


Pieces Of Us

by ThisIsMyVoice



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A whoole lotta world building, Angst, Badass Clarke Griffin, Clarke finally gets some of those hugs she's been needing since season 1 y'all, Fluff, Grounder Clarke Griffin, Hurt/Comfort, Indra/clarke bonding!!, Indra/gaia bonding!!, Multi, Neither monty or harper die because that was just the saddest ish, Reconciliation, Romance, Slow Burn Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, also all the cuddles, past trauma, technically a new planets worth of it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 09:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 36,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17999675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisIsMyVoice/pseuds/ThisIsMyVoice
Summary: Life in the valley after Diyoza and McCreary are finally defeated. A series of one-shots tracking Clarke and Bellamy's relationship as well as those of our main Characters as they slowly but surely find their way back to each other."He doesn’t want things to be this way anymore. For the longest time, Clarke has been the most important person in his life apart from his sister and he just –God, he just really misses her. He wants her back. Wants for them to be them again – Clarke and Bellamy; for things to return to the way they were before Octavia and Wonkru and the Spirits of the Commanders. Before Praimfaya.He cares about her.(Loves her)Never wanted to hurt her.So he’s here, trying to mend what maybe they both broke. "





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys :). Alright. Preliminary matters: 1) The plan was for an interconnected series of one-shots that build a relatively coherent story but give me enough leeway to trick myself into believing that what I have undertaken is just a series of one-shots and not an entire multi-chapter fic, lol.
> 
>  
> 
> 2) Each chapter stands alone, in the sense that you will probably not have to read the previous chapter to understand what's going in the current one. But, i would be lying if i didn't say each chapter builds on the one before and it would be easier to read them in order to really appreaciate the journeys our characters are undertaking.
> 
> 3) This story is heavily based on the events of season 5 of the 100, except where i divert. It's written with the assumption that most readers are at least generally familiar with the happenings of season 5. If you're not, no worries, everything is explained, but it helps to be.
> 
> Alright, now for the most important part of this note. Season 5 Clarke was just crazy to me. Holy s**t, the f***k!? kind of crazy. I thought, aw hell, here's another instance where the writer's are taking a character waay out of their normal characterisation just to move the plot along. But then i wondered... what if Clarke's actions - the intensity with which she protects Madi, how desperate she is for her not to become Commander, how after six years of peace, Clarke falls back into killing people who are seemingly not that big of a threat like Clarke hasn't always shied away from uneccessary bloodshed - what if all of that had a reason, tracing back along the seasons, one thing building on another until she's reached this point where she's snapping and no one around her, not even Clarke knows how deeply it goes, or how badly she's affected, until she does?
> 
> These oneshots are basically an exploration of this idea and the impact 6 years, the events of the bunker and living in one valley will have on the relationships of everyone concerned.
> 
> It should be noted that the inspiration for this story, also flowed from Bellamy's reaction to Clarke after the missiles had been launched and her reaction in turn: after chipping her daughter and leaving her behind, i don't get why he was the one giving Clarke the silent treatment and why, after her initial fury when she found out, Clarke was now the one acting all guilty and unsure. That switch made no sense to me.
> 
>  
> 
> I believed the guilty/unsure one should be Bellamy, for reasons expounded on in chapter 1 and 2. Now, most importantly: YOU DO NOT HAVE TO AGREE WITH MY VIEW. It is just my view. But i think it makes life interesting and, if you do not agree, I hope you enjoy it anyway.
> 
>  
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> If you've read all this till the end, thank you so much for the courtesy and please, enjoy :)

Bellamy is exhausted.

The blood that had soaked into his uniform during the battle of shadow valley has dried, stiff and hard. A rank odor drifts from it; the smell of meat that is just starting to go bad and every inch of him is black with dirt. It makes him itch; a maddening burn across the surface of his skin. He’s never wanted to bathe so much in his life. To scour his body with water so hot it hurts. Rip up his crimson clothes and burn them.

He wants to remove every reminder this day ever happened.

Instead, he is here.

After Madi united Wonkru and led them into battle, they’d overrun the invaders from space, captured McCreary and staked their claim over the valley.

There’d been no celebration – too many had died in this war that they had never needed or wanted to fight for that – but a powerful kind of relief had exploded in his chest, wiping out everything else; the fear, the dread, the adrenaline. At least for tonight, no one else would be dying.

In the magnitude of the release this observation brought, he’d looked around, caught deep blue eyes and moved without a thought, drawn with almost magnetic force.

“We need to talk” he’d said. And now here they are. In the holding cell where they’d first met, after six long years of not knowing whether the other was alive or dead. Where he’d held Clarke at long last while she clung to him, laughing and crying, soft and warm in his arms.

She is not clinging to him now.

She is not laughing.

She is neither soft nor warm.

The bench they’d sat on during their reunion now separates them, and Bellamy can’t help but think that maybe, that is some sort of sign.

Clarke watches him as silently as she had since they entered, her arms folded across her chest.

How is it possible for _silence_ to be cold? He doesn’t know but the space between them is frigid with the quiet and Clarke’s gaze is entirely unreadable. For protection, he wonders, or simply to distance herself from him? He doesn’t know, but there’s something about the way she’s not afraid to hold his gaze - makes it a point, actually, to stare right into his eyes while withdrawing her entire being from him – that makes him think it is the latter.

His heart cracks, just a little bit.

She still looks good. Even after everything.

(But maybe that’s a bit of an understatement because Clarke looks _great._ Beautiful)

It’s a bittersweet pleasure being able to _see_ just how well the last six years have treated her.

She’s grown into herself, time giving her a quiet gravity; a dignity and presence that she no longer has to work to project. Her shorter hair suits her, making her seem lighter somehow - less like she is carrying the weight of the entire world on her shoulders - even as golden strands frame her face and draw more attention to the new definition of her features. The slightly more prominent cheekbones. That dimple in her chin.

She’s got the beginnings of laugh lines around her eyes, part of a life she lived without him.

A life not marred by the weight of single-handedly trying to save the world and everyone in it, including him.

Everyone except herself.

Bellamy looks at Clarke and he marvels at the way six years without all of them to care for has made her…better.

He tries to pretend that doesn’t hurt.

(He fails. But he is the only one who has to know that.)

“I heard that you helped Echo rescue us. That you _let_ Echo rescue us, when you decided to allow Madi to lead her people. Thank you.” He starts, extending his olive branch first, since it is painfully clear that Clarke is not going to extend hers.

His voice sounds strange in his own ears, overly formal and polite. They might as well be two strangers discussing the weather instead of family who haven’t seen each other in six years.

Family who have managed to do terrible things to each other in only a few days…but. Still.

Then again, maybe they are no longer family.

Maybe he did that, when he picked the wellbeing of Spacekru over the wellbeing of Clarke’s daughter. When he went behind Clarke’s back and had Madi chipped anyway, despite the way Clarke had begged him not to.

Or maybe Clarke did when she left him to die in the fighting pits. When she betrayed Wonkru to McCreary and showed him the eye in the sky was down. Healed his men so that they could fight a senseless war that has decimated the lives of so many innocent people.

Maybe they both made sure of that.

A part of him is _so_ mad at her…

But most of him would like…

He doesn’t want things to be this way anymore. For the longest time, Clarke has been the most important person in his life apart from his sister and he just –

God, he just really misses her. He wants her back. Wants for them to be _them_ again – Clarke and Bellamy; for things to return to the way they were before Octavia and Wonkru and the Spirits of the Commanders. Before _Praimfaya_.

He cares about her.

( _Loves her_ )

Never wanted to hurt her.

So he’s here, trying to mend what maybe they both broke.

He’s so tired. Of fighting. Of trying to make every crappy situation on the ground better all the time. But for _Clarke_ , he’ll fight. For Clarke, he’ll _try_.

“I also hear that you retook the engine room and you’re the reason McCreary wasn’t able to fire his missiles at us. Thank you for that too. Apparently, you’ve become quite the sharp shooter.” He says, some of that old warmth from times past seeping into his voice. His small smile wilts when Clarke just looks at him, her posture and expression unchanging.

“I couldn’t have done it without Raven.”

“I know. But still, it couldn’t have been easy for you, to let Madi fight. To fight yourself thinking she was in danger.”

Somehow Clarke’s demeanor seems to grow even colder. “I didn’t think it Bellamy. She was in danger. That’s a fact.”

He hesitates, but in the end just nods. There is an entire battlefield of mutilated body parts and a uniform soaked in blood to prove it.

Silence.

There is a cut above Clarke’s eyebrow that Bellamy only notices because it has started bleeding again, black blood welling up and running own the corner of her eye. He smothers the immediate sense of alarm that flares at the cut. At the color.

He swallows the urge to wipe the blood from Clarke’s face.

(With soft touches and even softer words).

There are some things he cannot change.

(and some changes that go too deep. To the root of a person. They cannot be undone.)

(The little mole at the top of her lip though, is _exactly_ the same and Bellamy _aches._ )

“I guess what I’m trying to say is thank you for looking out for us Clarke, even after everything.” He murmurs softly.

Clarke’s expression softens by slow degrees and watching the thaw is more gratifying than he can express. It lifts a weight he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying from his heart; makes breathing a little easier.

This is still Clarke. No matter all the changes, inside and outside, this is still _Clarke._

After a few seconds she gives him a small nod but even as he feels himself start to relax, he watches her features close off once again.

“Are we done here?” She asks, quiet and polite but hard and distant and Bellamy’s blossoming smile dies.

His ‘thank you’s are not what she needs to hear, he knows. Clarke has never been the type that enjoys being lauded no matter how praiseworthy her actions. Even after six years, he knows if he wants to get anywhere with her, he has to go straight to the heart of the issue.

“I know you’re mad at me.” He says seriously. His confirmation is in the sudden clench of Clarke’s jaw, the tension radiating at once from her entire body. He should feel wary or maybe discomfited by the way her entire being sharpens, including her attention on him; by the sudden heat in her gaze, but all he feels is relief; because anger, at least, is an _emotion_ he can work with, rather than a blank mask. Anger he can face and address and resolve.

Cold indifference, he cannot.

“I even understand why. I promised you I’d protect Madi and to you, it must seem like I went out of my way to break that promise. For that, I’m sorry. You have to know that if I had _any_ other choice I wouldn’t have – ”

“Leaving me tied up while you chipped my daughter against my wishes and threw her in the middle of a civil war is the _definition_ of breaking that promise Bellamy and it was never your choice to make, it was mine” Clarke says this lowly but with such intense feeling, so much quivering anger lying just barely restrained behind the sentiment that Bellamy finds himself speechless for a second. She advances on him, frustration and anger practically _wafting_ off of her. “Don’t you get that? She is _my_ daughter. She is _twelve._  I’m the one who gets to decide whether she should be offered the chip or not, whether she is _allowed_ to sacrifice herself for me or not. Not you! You don’t get to waltz in after _six_ years Bellamy and start making life-changing decisions for _my_ daughter, _behind_ my back, after I _trusted you._ ”

She’s barely raised her voice and yet somehow her words manage to resound through the small room.

She’s close enough now that he can see the blond curl of her lashes, the ring of blue around her pupils, the _grief_ in her expression.  She looks like the person she loved most has just died. Like she is staring down the person who killed them.

He takes an involuntary step back as if pushed, forced to by the magnitude of her emotions and Clarke’s fists are white-knuckled at her sides, as if she wishes she had pushed him for real. He almost wishes she had; at least then he would have a tangible thing to react to instead of this illogical, unexplainable dread that is slowly leaching like ice water into his veins.

“I didn’t make the decision for her Clarke, she _chose_ to take the chip.” He reminds her, trying to recover; to tamp down Clarke’s anger with reason.

It’s like pouring alcohol on an open flame and Bellamy swears he can see the blaze roaring upwards in her eyes.

“Because she’s brave and _reckless_ and you all but suggested that I would _die_ if she didn’t. How is that a choice!?”

He opens his mouth and then closes it, realizing that he doesn’t have an answer to that. Not a fair one. Not one that isn’t ‘those are the kinds of choices we’ve always had to make on the ground’. Life or death. Yours or theirs.

A part off him had known, when he presented the chip to Madi, that she would take it. That she couldn’t _not_ take it, when all their lives hung in the balance; when _Clarke’s_ life hung in the balance and her taking the chip might allow her to help them. He’d been fully prepared to convince, cajole, beg and plead – more than he’d had to in the end – but the idea of her choosing not to take it was one he’d never considered because, if he’s being honest with himself, her choosing _not_ to take the chip was never an option in the first place _._

He can’t exactly tell Clarke this, so he grits his teeth and says nothing, but it doesn’t seem to matter because the longer he’s silent, the higher Clarke’s anger seems to burn. But, just as he’s sure Clarke’s about to explode, she closes her eyes and makes a visible effort to bring herself back under control.

Her voice is quiet again but all the more deadly for it as she continues, “You asked me not to kill Octavia. And even though she was the source of all our problems, even though she was the only thing standing between Diyoza and peace, even though just her _existence_ put Madi at risk, I agreed. And I honored my word, even after everything we’d tried to circumvent the war had failed. Because it was Octavia. But more than that, because it was _you_ asking.” Her eyes dance between both of his as if asking if he _understands_. The weight of her words hits him square in the chest, knocks the wind right out of him.

_Because it was you._

_Because Clarke still cares._

He’d thought the only person she cared about anymore was Madi.

“Clarke – ”

She lifts up a hand to stop him and he surprises himself with how instantly he falls quiet. “No let me finish.” She whispers. “you made me a promise that you would protect my daughter. A child. Yet when your promise should have mattered most…You betrayed me. You left me tied, to a pipe, in some forgotten room like an animal, placed there by your sister by the way, and you did the one thing I begged you not to do. I _begged_ you Bellamy.” Her voice breaks on the word ‘begged’ and as angry tears slip from her eyes, his face burns with some combination of shame and embarrassment.

His back is to a figurative wall and going on the defensive is more instinct than a conscious decision. Suddenly, all the anger he’d been trying to restrain, bleeds back into his veins and he steps forward, into Clarke’s space. When he speaks, his voice is low and hot. “You’re taking this personally but it’s not. You did the exact same thing just before Praimfaya hit, when you shut the bunker with Octavia outside it and had me chained up so that I couldn’t open it. You thought you were doing what was best for your people and so did I. How is this any different?”

“Because I admitted I was _wrong_ to have made that choice _for_ _you_ and you _agreed_ with me. Because pretending that there are no good guys so that we can do shitty things we tell ourselves are necessary so that we feel better about the shitty things we’re doing, _doesn’t make them okay Bellamy.”_

 _None of this is okay._ She had whispered to him in the rover, on their way back to the lab.

_None of this is okay._

“Making shitty decisions and trying to justify them is what you’ve done this entire war Clarke, so what does that make you?”

“A fucking hypocrite!” She explodes, so loudly that she surprises both of them. He looks at her wide blue eyes, and heaving chest, and suddenly has the impression of fraying edges. Clarke blinks and collects herself so quickly he can’t address the frantic distress that had just peeked through her anger. She pushes even closer to him with a scowl, eyes darkening, “But the truth is I would have never had to make those decisions if you hadn’t tried to get the only person who’d kept me sane for the last six years killed! You let 300 Skaikru die, your own ‘people’ just so that you could save your sister, so don’t you dare stand here and act like if it had been Octavia instead of Madi in danger, you would have done anything different than me.”

His jaw works, clenching and unclenching hard enough he’s surprised he hasn’t cracked teeth.

He can’t deny it. Clarke just barely reaches his chin, but she is chest to chest with him anyway, calling him out on his shit, blue eyes burning. Six years ago, he would have been amused at the height difference, at how cute she looks all angry. But this isn’t six years ago and the air between them is hot and thick with real rage…with real bitterness and guilt and frustration. Because he can’t even pretend, if it had Octavia’s life at risk… he would have done differently than Clarke had, with leaving Wonkru, with staying with her mum and Madi.

 And Octavia is 23.

“I may be a hypocrite Bellamy, but you’re a liar.” Clarke tells him quietly, “And the worst part is, the person you’re lying to most is yourself. You didn’t make this decision with your head you made it with your heart. It _was_ personal, because your decision wasn’t about _Wonkru,_ or Indra or Gaia or even stopping the war so much as making sure Raven, Echoe, Murphy, Emori, Monty and Harper were safe, no matter what. Am I wrong?”

Bellamy swallows, his cheeks darkening. His skin prickles all over with the uncomfortable vulnerability that comes with exposure. She’s not wrong.

Clarke merely looks at him and it’s such a steady, knowing look that his skin _burns_ as his entire body flushes _._

 Now he pushes back, almost instinctively, because she’s hinting at something he just cannot accept as true. He knows why he made the decisions he did. “You’re wrong, I did make this decision with my head.” He murmurs, his voice sounding like there are boulders clashing in his throat, “I didn’t pick Space-kru over Madi, I picked the option I thought would have the least casualties, for _everyone._ But even If I had, every single member of _my_ _family_ was going to _die_! Chipping Madi could have stopped that, without killing her. What was I supposed to do?”

“ _Trust_ me!” she shouts exasperated, turning away from him to get some space before turning back a few feet away, eyes blazing “respect me, work with me to find a solution, _together.”_

_His hand over hers on a lever in the heart of The Mountain, swallowed in darkness. “Together.” He assures her._

_Clarke standing beside him and saying everything that a person could say without outright saying goodbye. Him cutting her off and inching closer into her space. “Clarke, we’ll get through this, together” he promises about Praimfaya._

_Six years after Praimfaya and strategizing their escape from Wonkru and their return to Shadow Valley, “Together” he’d reminded her._

(Together. Another promise he’s broken…)

“Don’t you get it!? I couldn’t just _trust_ you! Six years is a hell of a long time and you can’t think clearly when it comes to Madi, that’s obvious!  And She was our only real hope. She could be _protected_ , even on the frontlines of a war, but Spacekru couldn’t.  It was the smart choice. The _logical_ choice and six years ago, you’d have seen that for yourself!” He yells back with a mixture of desperation and accusation.

The silence that fills the space between them is deafening.

He’s only the spoken the truth.

The Clarke of six years ago, _his_ Clarke, would have done whatever she needed to do to protect her friends, her family. True. But even more than that, she would have done whatever it took to achieve the greater good. _That_ is the Clarke that was willing to sacrifice her mother to stop Ali.  _That_ is the Clarke that sacrificed Finn so that her people could have a truce with the grounders. _That_ is the Clarke that would have walked away from her relationship with Lexa to be the leader her people needed.

 _That_ Clarke would have made the hard call. She would have done the right thing. She would have agreed to chip Madi even if it hurt to do it; even if it wasn’t fair to place that kind of burden on a twelve-year old or she couldn’t forgive herself, because all her people’s lives mattered, not just her daughter’s.

But maybe they are not her people anymore either.

Clarke, however, doesn’t look like someone on whom the light has dawned, someone who has suddenly recognized the error of her ways. There is a storm brewing in eyes that are now sleet grey; anger and frustration and something like guilt but not quite, more like remorse; the specters of all those lives Clarke _did_ take, all those people she _was_ willing to sacrifice versus the one she absolutely refuses to now.  But, most surprising of all, across tossing waves and whipping winds, towards a darkening horizon, he can see a sadness there as well; A sadness that feels too old.  Too deep. Too profound to have been born from just these his few days on the ground. It lingers, poignant. Painful. Existing outside of this moment, the impression of it forever staining his mind.

“You couldn’t trust me because you’ve convinced yourself you’re the only one who loves them.”  Clarke murmurs, startling him away from that lurking sadness and bringing him up short yet again. “Like I didn’t spend every single day, for six _years_ , walking around with a radio trying to reach all of you.” she’s closing the distance between them again, steps slow and steady, “Like I didn’t call you every day, just in case you were still alive, just in case you made it safely and you could hear me but I couldn’t hear you. Like I didn’t draw Raven, Monty, Harper, Murphy, Emori, even _Echo_ so I wouldn’t forget what you looked like. So that I could show Madi. Like I didn’t tell her stories about all of you till it got to the point that she could recognize you on sight. Like I’m the one that said you were no longer part of my family.”

She’s right in front of him again and he blinks down at her, warmth slowly seeping into his chest, into his cheeks, up to his ears. He hadn’t known about the radio calls. He can’t imagine what it would be like to call day after day for 6 years on the slightest hope that the people he loves are alive. That Clarke cared enough to…

“You left me to die Clarke.” He whispers, but it’s a token resistance. He can feel all his anger draining through the bottomless hole his stomach dropped through. It leaves him empty and warm and aching. It seems foolish now to have insinuated that she didn’t care. For jumping to the conclusion that because she didn’t want her daughter in danger, she was okay with Space-kru dying, as if the two were somehow mutually exclusive.

(He said he hadn’t chosen between Madi and Space-kru but he _had._ And what’s worse, he’d tried to force Clarke to choose and when she wouldn’t, he’d chosen _for_ her.)

 “Because you left me first.” She’s whispering too now, her blue eyes locked on his brown ones. “You brought the fighting pits on yourself Bellamy, that was your choice. And it was your sister who was willing to sacrifice you. She’d already ordered her guard to murder Madi and I. I wasn’t going to go back in to that bunker so that we could be surrounded and captured, not for someone willing to use Madi as a pawn in a civil war. Not even if that person was you.” Her eye contact is unwavering and there’s a weight to those words that settles on him, pressing right against his heart. He get’s that. At this point, he’s not entirely sure he would have gone back for him either.

In the silence that falls, Clarke looks down, away from him and seems to be struggling with herself. She loses the fight with a sigh and then adds in a whisper, “And I guess deep down, I couldn’t imagine Octavia going through with it. Hurting Indra, hurting Gaia, hurting _you._ I thought you’d be fine. And if you weren’t…if you weren’t…that was a risk I was going to have to take.”

She straightens, squaring her shoulders and Bellamy knows this is her owning up to her choices, taking responsibility for them. He’s alive but she knows he could have died. And she was still willing to walk away. It hurts having that confirmed, more than he expected it to, but less than it did imagining Clarke had just tossed all of them away, including him; a dull ache in his chest instead if the burning slash he was expecting.

There’s a part of him that still wants to fight with her if only because it’s easier to be angry than feel like he does now – like he’s either going to melt or combust from all the conflicting emotions fighting rioting in his heart. There’s still anger there. But also remorse, affection and a tenderness so deep it’s a struggle not to close the distance between them and pull her into his arms, hold her properly the way he hasn’t since Praimfaya, with no Diyoza or McCreary or the end of the world looming over them.  

A part of him wants to blame her for everything that happened, but he has to take responsibility for his own choices too and if he’s going to be honest with himself, in more than one way, they brought him here because he knows, instinctively, without it needing to be confirmed, that Clarke would have never walked away from him in trouble, if she hadn’t thought he’d walked away from her first. Her and her daughter.

(Its so strange to think that Clarke has a _daughter_ now. And maybe in some ways that was part of it. Clarke’s relationship to Madi was still to him, more an idea; A concept that hadn’t yet solidified into a settled form. She was a child, true, -but to think of her as ‘Clarke’s child’ would take time he simply hadn’t been given.)

It’s not Clarke’s job to risk her life and everything she holds dear to keep him or any of the remaining 100 safe; sometimes that’s a fact even he has to remind himself of. All at once, he feels even worse. He’d criticized her for not making the ‘right choice.’ As if any of them ever really knew what that was. What he does know, is that Clarke has always put them first and every time she wants something to herself it seems like they conveniently turn on her. Raven with Finn, Jasper over what happened at the mountain, Octavia when she wanted to stay with Lexa, and now him, acting like the biggest douche because Clarke has a new priority in her life that doesn’t include them.

(Doesn’t include him)

“Clarke – ” he starts softly, an apology on the tip of his tongue.

“But maybe you’re right.” she murmurs before he can continue, almost thinking aloud, mouth twisting. “Maybe I have changed.” Blue eyes find his again, clarify and harden, a sheet of blue glass. “But you have too, because the Bellamy that I knew, would have considered Madi and I as part of his family too. He wouldn’t have _sacrificed_ us. He would have found another way.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy, like the smell of incoming rain. Like the rumbling that remains after a boom of thunder.  

Now he can see so much of the root of Clarke’s anger, which is really pain. She’s right. He knows she’s right and it feels like getting struck by lightning, electricity ripping up and down his spine as he suddenly realizes what she’d meant by “like I’m the one who said you’re not part of my family.”

_My family._

He’d been calling Space-kru that this entire time… _His_ family. Separate from her. Not equal to her. Not Inclusive of her.

 _His_ family. As if they had never been hers.

 _‘Echoe, Raven, Monty, Harper, Murphy and Emori are my familly”_ He’d told her.

As if she had never been his.

Shit.

“Clarke – ”

“And just so we’re clear.” Her voice is rough that way it is when she’s holding back tears and the sound has his insides clenching and twisting. “ _You_ didn’t save them. _I_ did. Your “plan” failed Bellamy. Octavia woke up like I said she would and went to war. And her forces were decimated. The only reason ‘Space-kru’ survived long enough to be ‘rescued’ was because I stole the worms when I escaped with Madi. If you had trusted me, listened to me, _we_ could have escaped. ‘Spacekru’ would have been safe and we might have been able to find another way out of this war. So much for no other choices, right?”

Her mouth tips into a bitter smile and as she turns to leave, Bellamy has the most chilling premonition, knowing without knowing how he knows that if she leaves this room like this, she won’t be coming back.

(Not to him. Maybe not ever)

 _Bellamy, if you do this, she’ll never forgive you._ Madi’s warning echoes in his mind.

“Clarke, wait!” he calls and he can hear the desperation in his own voice, the plea. She stops but doesn’t turn to face him. He watches her take a deep breath, shoulders moving slow. He hears her exhale, long and soft, a sound that would be inaudible if the entire room wasn’t so despairingly quiet. The pounding of his heart in his ears is nearly deafening in comparison. He takes a couple of steps towards her before he can stop himself, his palms tingling.

He wants to rest them on her tense shoulders, rub gently until they loosen. Rest his forehead against the back of her head and close his eyes, pretend they are anywhere else but here, in this room, in this year, where his relationship with his best friend is unraveling at the seams, mostly because of the impossible circumstances they were placed in but also…because of choices he made.

(He can own up to that, his part in this, even while his mind remembers that Clarke made choices too.)

He doesn’t move any closer than those few steps, the physical distance between them only a meter or so but the emotional distance a chasm stretching across timelines.

But he can fix this, he has to _fix_ _this,_ Clarke has to see –

“I’m sorry.” The apology tumbles from his lips, as if trying to reach Clarke before she disappears. “I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter.  “For chipping Madi behind your back, for not trusting you, for breaking my promise to face the ground together, I’m so sorry. I was just…scared…that after all this time… maybe you just didn’t care about us in the same way and I couldn’t _risk…_ ” he trails off helplessly and after a few seconds, Clarke gives a sharp nod and continues leaving.

“But I kept my promise to protect her, alright?” he blurts, his voice raising. Once again Clarke stops and Bellamy forces himself to take a breath and modulate his tone. “Madi’s safe. She’s fine, there’s not a scratch on her. So… so can we please just put this behind us Clarke and start over?” He can’t hide the hope in his voice nor does he really care to. He’s spent the last _six years_ thinking she was dead, thinking it was his fault, wondering if he should have made the sacrifice, if he should have died instead, only to realize she was still alive and to finally have her back… He can’t just _lose_ her again.

Not like this _._

Clarke turns to face him slowly, so slowly, the seconds that pass by stretch into eternities.

He doesn’t know the reaction he was expecting, but the look of extreme incredulity is not it. She stares at him, with that _look_ on her face, so _surprised_ and Bellamy feels the hairs on his arms rise, goose-bumps breaking out over his skin.

“You really don’t get it do you?” she finally whispers, and the haunting quality of her voice chills him to the bone. “Start over? Everything is _fine_?” She advances on him with eyes of fire and ice,  a desperate intensity radiating from her that is almost tangible and all at once Bellamy understands how this woman has kept the title ‘the Commander of Death’ for so long, feels like he is watching an avenging angel with the power to cause the rise and fall of empires with each metallic thud of her steps.

“You have no _idea_ what you’ve done.” She murmurs fervently and there’s this awful wonder mixed in with the grief from earlier - the expression of a person witnessing a tragedy.

“Everything isn’t _fine_. Madi isn’t _safe._ When you made her the _Commander_ – ” Her voice shakes on the title, _breaks_ and Bellamy remembers all at once with stunning clarity - _Lexa._ “you painted a bright red target on her forehead showing not just Diyoza and McCreary but the entire world _exactly_ where to aim anytime they wanted to break Wonkru’s spirit. Or gain more power. Or have access to more resources. That target was painted in indelible ink Bellamy; for the rest of her life, it will _never_ wash away. She’ll live with it or she’ll die. And in my experience… she’ll die.” It’s said with such cold finality that all Bellamy can do is stare.

After six years, it was easy to forget that the last person Clarke really loved was Lexa. That Lexa was the _Commander_. That Lexa died bleeding in Clarke’s arms after Titus tried to murder Clarke. The most powerful woman the ground had known, Commander of the armies of the twelve clans, had died by accident, because her advisor was trying to manipulate her into making the decisions _he_ saw fit. And now Clarke’s daughter stands in the same position that killed her love. Because of him.

(He wonders if the nightmares have come back; if Clarke sees Madi being shot instead of Lexa, her daughter lying in a pool of her own blood, while the Commander of Death cries over her body, helpless.)

Overwhelming compassion wells up in him and he can see the moment Clarke realizes he understands because sudden tears glaze her eyes and she looks away from him, her hands clenching into such tight fists, her knuckles gleam white.

“I couldn’t protect Lexa and I was right there.” She whispers quietly after a long, tension filled moment. “Her bodyguards couldn’t protect her. The _chip_ couldn’t protect her. All the Commanders of old, decade’s worth of wisdom, _useless.”_ The tears in her eyes never fall as she finds his gaze again, strong and terrible in their certainty as she whispers, “What chance does Madi have? She has never been trained or taught or _chosen._ She was just a little girl that her family loved too much to allow her to join the night bloods in Heda’s tower… Now she’s the ‘Commander’ and I went from watching my daughter live to waiting for her to die. It’s only a matter of time Bellamy. I breathe, and after every breath I’m waiting for someone to tell me that there was some arrow, or some poison, or some _bullet_ ,” her lip curls over the words and Bellamy can feel her disgust for it, even as she presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, so hard it must hurt, obscuring her face from him. “and she’ll be gone, just like that, and there will be nothing I can fucking do about it.” She says this last past in a whisper, hands still pressed to her face, eyes probably scrunched tight but he knows that her tears are slipping out anyway.

It’s quiet then; now he understands, but that makes everything worse because what can he possibly say? She’s standing three feet away from him, trying her best not to cry, and every reassurance he can think of sounds hollow. That they’ll protect Madi. That they won’t let anything happen to her. That now they have the chance to change things and start anew. He’s barely been back a week on the ground but it’s enough to prove that it is still _the ground_ and people are still dying, no matter what choice he makes. Sometimes _because_ of the choices he makes. So Bellamy just stands, with that pit in his stomach opening wider and aches for this girl he loves, whom he has hurt so much without even meaning to. Without _thinking_ which is so ironic for a decision he claims he made with his head and not his heart.

“You know what the worse part is,” Clarke eventually whispers, finally taking her hands away from her face and wiping at her eyes as unobtrusively as she could. His stomach lurches, like an invisible hook has caught it and suddenly yanked it to one side. Like he thought, her eyes are red-rimmed, the skin around them blotched pink, smeared with tears she couldn’t bear letting him see fall.

He shakes his head.

“Even if she lives, this will never be ‘her’ life. The Commander is nothing more than a vessel for the flame; she lives to serve her people. She will never be able to play with the other kids or have normal friends. Never have a normal love. It’ll be a miracle if she manages to grow _up_ much less grow old with someone. Costia was Lexa’s _girlfriend_ and Nia captured her, tortured her and _cut off her head_ just because she thought she knew Lexa’s secrets. The moment you made Madi Commander, you didn’t just put her in danger, you made sure everyone she cares about, everyone that comes close to her is either a target or a pawn… You’ve taken _everything_ away from her Bellamy, her entire life and you don’t even know it. Madi is too young to know it either but one day she will, and it’ll be too late. But hey, congratulations, at least _your_ sister is safe right Bellamy? _Your_ family”

Her words drive into his heart like daggers.

Clarke’s eyes are wet and the anger is back but now he knows to look for the pain underneath, can see her practically trembling with it, the urge to lash out because her natural inclination is to fix everything for everyone, but she cannot fix this and it’s killing her.

He opens his mouth and then closes it again when his voice fails him. Tries again and fails.

His tongue swirls uselessly in a mouth that feels like sandpaper.

He can taste the metallic tang of blood; the murkiness of dirt.

His saliva is dry and thick when he tries to swallow; tries because there’s a lump the size of a boulder closing off his throat.

There is nothing he can say. She’s right. He knows she’s right.

He hadn’t even thought about what Madi’s life would be like _after,_ as the _Commander_ ; hadn’t gotten to _after_ they survived and the repercussions of his actions; what it would mean for her to actually lead, to _live._ He’d been so scared, so worried, so focused on saving Raven and Monty and Harper and Emory and Murphy and Echo, _surviving,_ he hadn’t paused to consider all the ways apart from death his actions might cost Madi her life; because maybe he could protect her from bullets or arrows, or poison but he can’t protect her from this. From her duty to her people. And Clarke had known. And she’d tried to stop him. And he hadn’t listened.

He swallows again forcing down the regret, thick and molten bubbling up inside him.

Clarke’s eyes are a riotous sea of emotion, the kind of tempestuous storm that could drown any man trying to navigate their waters.

They’re drowning _him._

He wants to tell her that she _is_ his family. Or at least, if she is not, that he wants her to be again.

That he never meant to hurt her, or her daughter.

That he would take it back if he could. Do things right. Find another way.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers instead.  And Clarke’s expression cracks, like the words have caused her physical pain. She looks away.

“I was just trying to make sure everyone survived.”

He thinks Clarke, of all people, can understand that.

Blue eyes are unreadable when they finally return to him and Clarke stares at him for a long time. The tension between them grows steadily and Bellamy wonders if it will simply snap; if, even after everything they’ve been through, that understanding will be enough.

Then Clarke sighs. Long and heavy, an exhausted sigh, straight from her soul.

He watches, her anger fade, her body relax. She swipes at tear-filled eyes and then let’s her arms fall to her sides for the first time since she stepped into the room with him. Let’s herself be open to him.

Her eyes are still rimmed red and his heart aches.

“I know, Bellamy” she murmurs. And he can finally breathe.

She drags a hand through golden strands, and they come back cleaner than his. Her shoulders droop and for the first time, he is able to see that she is so, so tired too.

Weak with relief, all he wants is to stumble into her, wrap her in his arms and squeeze.

He stands and breathes. He has weathered the storm. And if it is not completely over, at least he can rest assured it will soon be.

“But you and I are done.” Clarke continues quietly.

His illusions of peace are shattered as violently as a bolt of lightning splitting open the sky. In the blinding aftermath of it he blinks at her, uncomprehending.

“What?”

“You were right before. We’re not family. Not anymore. Maybe we were never even friends. What I do know, is that from this moment we’re nothing.  And we will never be anything ever again. Just. Please. Stay away from Madi and I.”

The world seems to tilt around him, leaning dangerously, the earth shifting under his feet.

She is firm. Steady. Certain in the rightness of her decision. As his stomach twists violently, he realizes that that is somehow a thousand times worse.

( _Clarke_ is in the eye of the storm. He has been cast to the winds.)

 “I love you.” She says next and his heart shoots up into his throat. She says it like a fact, not like a declaration. Like an inevitability she is only stating because she is sure it is already known.  After everything that has happened between them Bellamy wasn’t expecting her voice to be so soft. But it is. _So_ soft. And he feels the ache of it in his bones.

(For a dazed second, he wonders _how_ she loves him. If it is like how Octavia loves him, or how Echo loves him. Then, she is speaking again. And maybe that is one thing he will never know.)

“I suspect that despite myself, I always will.” Her mouth twists up, into something that is a little too bitter to be called a smile and all at once he snaps back to reality. A reality, where he and Clarke are at war. Where they are no longer family. And the fact that she will always love him is somehow not a _good_ thing.

“Maybe that’s why I spent so much time convincing myself that you cared about me too -.”

“I _do_ care about you”

“No, you’ve _needed_ me Bellamy. And I guess that was what this ‘friendship’ was, right? I was the head. You were the heart. I came up with the ideas, you made them happen. I gave you forgiveness, you gave it back. Needing someone is different from loving them though. You’ve needed me Bellamy. But you’ve never loved me.”

It’s as if she’s slapped him again.

Rage surges in him, mixes with the hurt and confusion, because she sounds so _sure,_ so certain and what the hell has he been doing these past six years, _mourning_ her, missing her, honoring her sacrifice, if not loving her?

It threatens to pour out of him all at once. Too much. Things he shouldn’t say, _can’t_ say now that he has a girlfriend and his chest heaves with the effort of holding himself back, holding himself in.

There is a sadness in her eyes that makes him ache. A self-depreciation that says she’s a fool for ever believing that they had something more than mutual need.

 _You’ve never loved me_ she said.

“You know that’s not true.” He whispers, voice cracking.

A melancholy smile graces her lips. “Isn’t it?” she tosses back at him and Bellamy kind of wants to scream.

“Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that inevitably we get to this place where we have to choose between what we think is right and each other and we have _never_ chosen each other Bellamy.” There is a pause then, heavy, as the weight of that sinks in.

He thinks about the moments before praimfaya, Skaikru in the bunker, Octavia locked out and Bellamy locked in, unable to make sure she’d be alright. He thinks about the era of Pike and how he shut them all out, including Clarke. Maybe especially Clarke.

“We keep hurting each other Bell, over and over, always convincing ourselves that the other person will understand, will forgive, will let go. It’s not…it’s not healthy and I can’t do this again. I can’t lean on you, can’t trust you, only to have you leave me again… You’ve abandoned me three times Bellamy.” She says quietly and the hurricane gathering speed inside his chest dissipates even faster than it began. Bellamy blinks at her, reeling internally at the sudden switch in his own emotions, off balance.

“I came to you, after Pike had ordered the slaughter of the Commander’s peace force and was planning to go to war with the entire coalition. Do you remember what happened then?”

He does and all the blood drains from his face so quickly he imagines the effect is almost instantaneous. What he remembers makes him feel sick to his stomach.

“Clarke – “

“I came to you, because despite Indra telling us that you were part of those who murdered the three hundred sent to defend Arkadia in their sleep, despite Lexa warning me that you’d picked their side, I was so sure that if I could just see you, if I could just talk to you, I could make you understand. I thought you’d choose me.”

He knows how this story goes and the pain that rips through his heart is like nothing he’s ever felt before. She smiles at him, that small twist to her mouth, as if mocking herself for thinking that that could ever be the case and it tears at something inside him, has him bleeding from more points than he can name.

“I was wrong. Do you remember, what you did to me that day?”

His heart throbs.

_What he did to her._

“Clarke –” He whispers, not knowing what he’s trying to ask her to do.

She ignores him, still speaking in that measured, factual tone even as her eyes glaze and she focuses on some point in the not so distant past.

“You acted like you were on my side. Like everything was going to be okay. You waited until you were sure I trusted you and then you handcuffed me to the table.”

He closes his eyes, shame prickling hot over his skin.

“I still didn’t understand, even after that. I thought you were just confused. That you’d misunderstood what I was trying to tell you. And then you looked at me and I realized you hadn’t. You’d just chosen Pike, not me. He was the one that was going to let you vent your anger against the grounders for what the ice-nation did to Gina and to the 100 inside mount weather. He was what you thought you needed then so, even knowing that there was a chance that he would hurt me, imprison me, do whatever he felt he had to do to me to get information about the grounders, about _Lexa_ , you left to call him anyway. Do you remember what I was doing, while you were leaving?” The shame burns in his chest, the back of his neck, his face; He opens his eyes and finds he can’t really look at her, his gaze fixed somewhere near her boots instead. “You were calling my name. You were crying and begging me not to leave.” He murmurs.

“Like an idiot.” She laughs, the sound wet and filled with so much pain it cuts.

“Bellamy. Bellamy. Bellamy.” She whispers. and each repetition of his name, brings new fractures to his heart.

He’s never really let himself think about it; about what Clarke must have felt that day. There’d been Lincoln’s murder and Allie and then Praimfaya and he’d swept it into the dark corner of his mind where Octavia’s discovery and his mother’s death live and told himself that it didn’t matter anymore because they’d moved past it. Clarke had forgiven him. Clarke had understood. Now, he realizes she had forgiven. But not forgotten. And old monsters are crawling out from their shadows and into the light.

He wishes he could take it back. More than anything he wants to take it back.

He _can’t_ take it back and he doesn’t know what to say. He has reasons of course, because no one who ever does a terrible thing does so without reasons.

(He’s just not sure those reasons will be enough)

 He was angry. At Azgeda for the explosion at mount weather, for Gina’s death. Angry at all the grounders. Angry at the whole world. Angriest at himself. So he did what he did best when faced with emotions he couldn’t handle, and picked the most self- destructive path he could find, which was Pike. It hadn’t been until Pike killed Lincoln that he realized that, as always, it wasn’t just him his self- destruction was hurting.

He hadn’t realized just how much he’d been holding against Clarke till he looks at it now, after so many years had gone by. He’d held her leaving Arkadia after Mount Weather against her, thinking she was choosing to leave all of them.

( _Leave him.)_

He’d held her staying in Polis to be an ambassador for their people against her, thinking that she was choosing Lexa over them.

( _Over Him.)_

He’d held her loving Lexa against her. Her wanting peace with the grounders against her. There are so many ways he’s poured out his anger against the ground and against the grounders, against all the things they’ve been forced to do and failed to do against Clarke and he hadn’t even realized that he’d been doing it again with Madi. Holding her choice to keep her daughter safe against her. Taking it as a choice to abandon the rest of them. Taking it as a sign that she was somehow unfit to lead.

She doesn’t even try to hide the renewed wetness in her eyes and he doesn’t quite have words for how terrible he feels.

"I never did apologize for that huh?” he murmurs. It’s not a question, they both know he didn’t. Not really.

Clarke frowns as he opens his mouth to gather the air for an apology. “Stop” she whispers, and he does, mouth still open. “I’m not bringing this up because I want an apology six years after the event Bellamy. I’m bringing it up because I need you to understand that sorry doesn’t fix everything.”

Gingerly she rolls up her sleeves and Bellamy’s heart stumbles and then breaks into a furious gallop.

Two black rings are highlighted around her wrists against a background of bruises, just where a pair of manacles would sit. He can see the circular cuts scabbing over, places where the iron wore through skin until she started to bleed.

He clenches his teeth so tightly he feels them creak in his jaw. He doesn’t have to ask, he already knows how it happened.

“I tugged as hard as I could hoping the chains would break and I could stop you. When that didn’t work, I tugged even harder, hoping that I could dislocate my thumbs and escape.” Clarke confirmed tonelessly. A wry smile curves her lips that doesn’t reach her eyes. “it doesn’t quite work like in the movies they showed us on the ark.”

Bile surges up his throat and he forces it down, the acid burning.

 “Clarke – Jesus.” He takes several shaky steps towards her, his hands reaching out without thought. He wants to check her wrists. Hold them in his and smooth his thumbs over where it hurts. Kiss them like he kissed all of Octavia’s scrapes and bruises. He wants to wipe the pain away.

It isn’t until Clarke flinches away from his outstretched hand, everything about her hardening that he is reminded that he doesn’t get to anymore.

Bellamy stops.

He has the same scars, from when Clarke locked Octavia outside the bunker and had him chained up because she knew he would do anything to open the door and free her. But somehow that doesn’t seem to make any difference. If anything, it only seems to reinforce Clark’s point. That they keep hurting each other. That they were bad for each other. That it seemed that even co-leading the same group of people, Clarke and Bellamy had somehow never gotten around to choosing each other.

Except… Except Clarke had kind of chosen him hadn’t she? When she’d let Madi come and help them after finding out he was still alive. It wasn’t something she’d _had_ to do but she had done it, even after leaving him, even after everything…Clarke had chosen him even after Bellamy had turned his back on her…

When he doesn’t say anything she exhales, shaky.

“You… _Left_ me.” She tells him, unknowingly echoing his innermost thoughts. Her voice breaks and Bellamy flinches, feels it in all the raw places that already ache. She’s not talking about Pike anymore, she’s talking about three days ago. “You left _Me._ _You_ left me. I was screaming for you, I was begging you, I _trusted_ you and you _left_ me. _Again._ I needed you…and you didn’t care. So can you honestly stand here Bellamy, look me in the eyes and tell me you care about me, even after everything. That the next time someone you actually love is in danger, you’re not going to run off on your own and do whatever you think you have to, no matter who gets hurt in the process?”

The accusation breaks his heart.

Clarke’s blue eyes are wet and luminous, her face completely open for the second time tonight. She bites her bottom lip to keep it from trembling but there is a crippling hurt there that no amount of trying to be strong will erase and he finally understands, that he has broken her heart too.

The stinging in his eyes is nearly unbearable. He frustrates himself by wanting to apologize, knows that he can’t apologize, because she is right. Sorry cannot fix everything.

It cannot fix this.

He wants to tell her that he will never leave her like that again, but he thinks about how he’s already managed to do just that, not once but _twice_. It scares him, the fact that she’s right. She needed him. She was crying out for him. She was begging him. And he just…walked away. If he can do this to Clarke, a woman he knows he loves, if only by the way his heart feels like it’s been ripped from his chest at the anguish that is written, clear as day, across her face – what isn’t he capable of?

After six years of thinking he had become a better man, he is suddenly not sure who he is anymore; if anything he thought about himself was true or if he’d only been deceiving himself and everyone else around him. If he’d only been able to be a better person because in space there were no other options.

He can’t promise he will never hurt her like this again and have that be a lie; she’d _hate_ him. Hell, he’d hate himself. He’d lose her in every way he hasn’t already.

And after everything he’s done, after the handcuffs and the walking away and the chipping her _daughter_ … ( _(After **Praimfaya** which is something he can’t think about yet, can’t even let himself begin to touch without feeling something in him begin to crumble – to think she was still **alive** all this time…). _

He can’t tell her he loves her without it sounding like a cheap lie.

So Bellamy stays silent.

He’d told himself he had no choice in chipping Madi. Or at least, he’d thought he was making the best choice at the time. He thought he was protecting Clarke from herself.  Or protecting Spacekru from Clarke. Protecting them all.

And now he wonders if he’d just been protecting himself; the boy who threw the radio in the river and practically caused the culling. The boy who killed his mother. The boy who failed his sister. The boy who got Lincoln killed. The boy who killed three hundred grounders in their sleep. The boy who ruins everything he touches, given enough time.

The boy who’s terrified of being alone.

He can’t tell her he loves her, because he doesn’t deserve to.

When he doesn’t answer, Clarke must take it as a confirmation that he doesn’t. Her smile is brittle, the tears in her eyes finally, finally spilling over.

“Whatever the hell we want right?”

Bellamy looks away his own tears slipping down his cheeks. Quickly he wipes them away. This is not about him.

There’s silence then as Clarke wipes at her tears too and it kills him a little, that he’s the reason she’s crying. Again.

He may not have the right to say this after everything but still, he has to let her know…She has to know -

“I never meant to hurt you Clarke.” He whispers.

There is an eternity that passes between each of Clarke’s breaths and the aching rhythm of his heart.

She looks at him, that same quiet, steady, knowing look from before and there’s _something there_ , something big and huge that makes his breath catch a little in his chest; makes him feel like Clarke can see right through him, to the things he hadn’t even said, to that brief flash of anger when she’d suggested taking Madi and running that, for a second had flared out. Had _wanted_ to hurt.

But because he’s staring right into those deep blue eyes, he knows the exact moment when Clarke decides to let it go.

She sighs quietly.

“I know.” is all she eventually says, voice rough. “And yet…” She shrugs, such helplessness in the action that the seemingly unbearable ache in his heart seems to spread throughout his bones and intensifies. “Even Lexa only left me once” she tries and fails to smile, and Bellamy feels his heart crack open. She was trying to lighten the mood, but the joke falls flat as the truth of it strikes both of them.

The silence between them throbs like an open wound he is not sure will ever heal. He knows that this is it. That nothing he can say will speak louder than his past actions. That she will leave and she is justified in leaving because he has proved he cannot be trusted, not with her or the things she holds dear.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” She offers eventually, soft. A strange kind of peace offering, extended at the end of all things.

“Again, I shouldn’t have left you at the fighting pits… that was wrong of me. I was just…so angry. And a part of me couldn’t believe, didn’t want to believe that Octavia would actually hurt you.”

“It’s okay.” He tells her, voice rough. He gets why she did. Clarke hesitates for a second, like she is about to say something more but in the end, simply nods.

“I know Raven, Monty, harper and Murphy…”Space-kru”… probably hate me.” She hesitates over the name, says it like its in-quotation marks, the syllables fitting oddly in her mouth. An emotion he cannot name flits behind her eyes. 

“But if they’re willing, I hope we can work it out.” It’s salt in the wound, even if she doesn’t mean it to be and Bellamy sucks in a breath as the burning in his heart intensifies.

(He notices that she does not mention Echo, but with the world crumbling around him, he does not remember to ask why.)

She looks at him for a long time, no doubt noting the way his breaths are sharp and shallow, because she is nothing if not a healer at her core. He wonders if she can see the fear expanding in his chest.

(He can’t lose her again.)

“Goodbye Bellamy.”

Not may we meet again.

She starts to leave and suddenly everything is too soon, too sharp, too sudden. Panic surges up in him yet again at the sound of her footsteps receding. At the thought, that this could very well be the last time she ever allows him to talk to her like this.

 “Clarke, wait!”

She stops with her back to him. And Bellamy pants in the quiet, filled with unspeakable relief that she did stop. (That she will still stop for him). His skin is slick with sweat. His forehead, his arms, his palms but the air in the room feels like ice against his skin. (Cold sweat. An Oxymoron.)

“You said I left you three times.” He reminds, grasping at straws because he has to keep her here, with him, talking, for as long as possible.

Long seconds pass before Clarke turns to face him, expression once again unreadable. “Do you really not know?”

It takes him a second, his mind suddenly going into overdrive wondering what _other_ way he could possibly have -

Left her… How has he left –

“I’m glad you found someone in the six years, apart from the rest of the 100. Someone with whom the promise of ‘together’ apparently means something.”

Oh. _Oh._

His eyes widen, his heart suddenly beating a mad tattoo in his chest. “Clarke are you… do you mean Echo?”

He sounds so shocked it makes her mouth curve despite herself, the closest she’s come to a genuine smile in days.

She’s about to respond but he’ll never hear what she was going to say because at the same moment the door flies open.

Echo comes in a moment after and stops, surprised, gaze flicking between the two of them, confusion flashing across her features until she smooths them out. Clarke’s expression shutters too and Bellamy wonders if hiding your emotions is just something all grounders do.

(He wonders if that is simply what Clarke is now – a grounder – because she is neither Spacekru nor Skaikru nor Wonkru. She has no ‘people’ now but out of all of them, she is the one that has most made the earth her home.)

(Maybe Madi is her people now)

“Monty mentioned you might be here.” The ‘ _I thought you’d be alone’_ goes unspoken but rings very loudly in the room.

“The others are looking for you,” She continues, after a short but painfully awkward pause. “We’ve got to figure out where we’re going to sleep. Wanheda…I hope I’m not disturbing anything” She says politely, if a little drily, eyes flickering to Clarke once more. That smile that is not a smile is back on Clarke’s lips.

(The pained, self- mocking twist of it is new, but that little mole at the top of her lip is exactly the same and Bellamy _aches_.)

“That’s fine. We were just done here” she turns, eyes meeting his again.

Is the pause now as long as he imagines? Is Clarke’s gaze lingering on his face because she wants to memorize him in the same way he is even now, trying to memorize her?

For a second it looks like she’s going to say something – some farewell, some benediction to send them both on their separate paths, to divide their courses forever. Then the moment is gone and Clarke just gives him a small nod instead and then turns to leave, only pausing in front of Echo to deliver a pointed, “Echo.”

His girlfriend’s lips twitch despite herself. Even six years is not long enough to forget just how much Clarke hates the title ‘Wanheda’. “Clarke.”

He’s waiting for her to look back, just one more time as she leaves. He’s waiting for the smallest sign of hesitation. For that last goodbye.

She doesn’t look back as she brushes past Echo and exits the room. She doesn’t hesitate. And he thinks he understands how she must have felt watching him walk away, each time.

His heart cracks a little more with each step.

“Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy _!_ ” She’d cried, desperate for him to turn around. To change his mind.

He hadn’t.

 _Clarke, Clarke, Clarke!_ His heart cries.

Until it breaks.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One week later...

It’s a celebration.

 

Throughout the clearing, the happy, vibrancy of flutes is accompanied by the spirited pounding of drums – rich and fast and deep – to produce a sound that fairly sings through the blood. It is a playful sound, a joyful sound; full of life and sheer animated energy, that perfectly embraces the spirit of merriment and merrymaking that has overtaken their camp.

 

The bonfire in the middle of the clearing is huge, bright orange flames licking at a coal black sky studded with diamonds. Plates of meat and roasted vegetables sit surrounded by cups of Monty’s moonshine on long uneven tables at one edge of the clearing, as grounders and Skaikru alike dance as Wonkru around the fire.

 

It’s the ground as he’s never seen it; _people_ of the ground as he’s never seen them; figures of light and shadow, smiling and laughing and stumbling over the long unused steps of the different clans, as they take turns by wordless agreement to show off the dances of their different people, switching musicians where necessary.

 

The grounders aren’t the invisible murderers of their nightmares, or the bloodthirsty barbarians of Pike’s speeches, or even the fierce, war-paint wearing soldiers of a war that seemed to have no beginning or end but had simply existed from their first steps on the ground. The Sky people aren’t hostile invaders; burning down villages, slaughtering innocents without provocation, agents of the mountain men free from the mountain. No, these are a people at peace.

 

Finally, it feels like they belong here. That they _all_ belong on the ground.

 

Like they are one people, the smaller parts fitting effortlessly together to form the whole. Despite everything else she may have done wrong, despite the fractures caused by the threat of war and the vacuum of leadership, this at least Octavia has done right.

 

But Bellamy’s not thinking about Octavia.

 

(He’s not thinking about how she’s somewhere in the holding cells. Alone. He’s not thinking about how they agreed Madi will keep her there until they can decide if Octavia’s a threat and if so, how big. He’s not worrying over what will happen if she _is_ deemed a threat. He’s not. He’s not. He’s not. He doesn’t _care_ about Octavia. Not anymore.

 

He doesn’t. Really.)

 

“Here you go”

 

His head snaps up, grateful for the distraction and he smiles as Echo hands him a metal cup nearly brimming over with what is – thankfully – a more refined version of Monty’s moonshine.

 

(There wasn't that much to do for six years simply floating around in the ark after all. Perfecting old recipes just happens to be one of them). 

 

He takes it from her carefully, taking a quick sip to bring the level down.  The comical grimace as his throat bursts into flames is customary, even though he's already had a cup not too long ago. God it’s strong.

 

“Too strong for you Mr. Blake?” Echo smirks a wicked smirk and takes several long, pointed pulls of the cup in her hand. Her eyes are twinkling at him as she as she does so and even though he’d known she missed being on the ground, he hadn't really realized just how much, or even what exactly there was to miss until they got back.

 

He gets it now because it's like, everything around them, _about_ them has more life in it. Her eyes, her smile, their happiness; the crisp, clean night air, the blaze of the stars above and the ecstatic exuberance of the flames.

 

He doesn’t know how he can miss something he’s technically never had, but he’s missed this.

 

There’s not much to laugh about, floating helplessly in an abandoned space-station as possibly the very last handful of people alive on earth.

 

But now…

 

Bellamy mock scowls at her as she pauses to give an exaggerated sigh of pleasure and it’s kind of ruined by how hard he’s grinning. “Hey, watch it Azgeda, I can drink you under the table any time you'd like.”

 

Her smirk grows, her eyes dancing “Guess I'll look forward to that then.”

 

It takes him a second before he grasps the innuendo laced into her words and by then the group around them is already groaning good-naturedly, Raven actually picking up a handful of grass and hurling it in their direction with an admonition of, “stop being gross. You guys are worse than Monty and Harper.”

 

“Hey” the couple protest at almost the same time, then look at each other and grin.

 

Everyone rolls their eyes good naturedly and Bellamy turns his attention back to Echo, “Besides, it's not my fault Monty’s essentially created rocket fuel.”

 

A much louder “Hey!” from just Monty has them all bursting into laughter, even Harper who dutifully attempts to stifle her giggles when Monty pouts at her.

 

Bellamy reaches out a hand for Echo and, when she takes it, pulls her gently into his lap.

 

She comes to him willingly, surprised, but pleased and it occurs to him that they've never really done this part; been soft and intimate with each other where everyone can see. They’ve whispered secrets behind closed doors, shared their grief between soft sheets and tried their best with their bodies to exorcise the demons they carry; they’ve known each other’s pain, some of each other’s dreams but they’ve never shared what they share in front of anyone else. But Bellamy likes this. Likes being able to wrap his arms around her waist to pull her close and press a kiss to the nape of her neck.

 

She turns to look at him with bright, warm eyes and presses a soft kiss to his lips that Bellamy ruins by smiling wide.

 

He’s warm, his mind just fuzzy enough to be pleasant and his heart light. Echo is warm too, comfortable in his lap, her back against his chest as he holds her close. Murphy and Emory are spinning in a chaotic shrieking circle near the fire, reminiscent of little children trying to make themselves dizzy on the playground. Monty and Harper are on the ground, cuddled together, probably whispering sweet nothings to each other and Raven is watching them all, an absent half-smile on her face.

 

It’s been a week since they settled into the valley. He’s full, comfortable and the closest thing to truly happy and worry free he’s been in six years, and everyone he loves most is here and safe.

 

Well…almost everyone.

 

Unbidden, his eyes drift to a familiar head of golden hair…and stay.

 

Seated on the ground, her back to a tree a long way from the bonfire, right at the edge of the golden circle of light it casts so that most of her is shrouded in shadow while her hair gleams bronze -  

 

She'd been alone since the beginning of the celebration. She's alone now, only the collection of cups that have grown around her marking the passage of time. Bellamy counts at least five.

 

He doesn't notice when his smile slowly fades away.

 

But Raven must and she follows his gaze.

 

“Has she talked to you at all?” she asks him quietly.

 

Silence seems to plummet from the sky and blanket them all.

 

Suddenly, he can feel all their eyes on him.

 

Everyone knows who she's talking about, Raven doesn't need to elaborate.

 

Clarke.

 

“No.” it hurts him to say, his heart aching the way a fading bruise aches, “she hasn’t.”

 

He hadn’t even needed to ‘stay away from her’. Clarke was doing a good enough job of avoiding him all by herself.

 

After last week when they’d had their… Fight? Argument? Confrontation? in the holding cells, he’s barely seen her; A true feat of evasion on her part that almost defied human understanding.

 

He’d seen Madi almost immediately. In the chaos that was managing several hundred people after a war and settling them into a new home, in a foreign land– securing the prisoners, finding everyone a place to sleep while making it clear that those lodgings were only temporary, organizing groups to find weapons and tools, make more, build a smoke shed, hunt, cook, distribute the food, feed the prisoners as well, create containers to hold water, fetch water, post guards on the water, and on and on and on, one endless bustle of activity after the other - he’d seen Madi rise to the occasion, a 12 year old girl half the size of nearly everyone in the camp, with new fire in her eyes and steel in her spine, that was seemingly everywhere at once, shouting orders, hand-picking groups, choosing grounders by name she'd never met and couldn't possibly know.

 

She’d emerged, like a single ray of sunlight piercing through dense fog and Bellamy had watched with no small amount of surprise as the helpless uncertainty of those first few moments of freedom seemed to melt away in her presence.

 

In fact, it was almost eerie, the hush that had fallen the moment she’d appeared in the village; the almost tangible force now attached to her presence; the way those standing closest to her had shifted instinctively, creating a clear, reverent space around her as if to touch would be a form of sacrilege.

 

In that moment Bellamy could practically _feel_ the power Madi now carried as Heda. Could see it in every hope-filled gaze turned towards her, every questioning expression; every man, woman and child ready to move at her word, just waiting to be commanded.

 

Madi had emerged, and Bellamy saw, the hairs at the back of his neck rising to attention, more of what six years underground with a ruler like Bloodreina had done to these people; He’d seen the way they had looked at Lexa, like she was a queen among commoners. Like her every step, her every word held an elevated importance greater than herself. But the legend of Heda combined with the reality of bloodreina’s reign of terror meant that these people, ruled by the iron fist of blood, and death and fear, _these_ people, looked at Madi like she was a god.

 

Something in his gut twisted as he caught his first glimpse of what Clarke had meant in the holding cell with his own eyes; the time of normal was long over. Nothing would ever be the same again.

 

 _This_ is what absolute power looked like.

 

And he’d placed it in the hands of a twelve-year-old child without a second thought.

 

Worse though than the open devotion, the almost worshipful awe were the other looks – the quick, confused glances that didn’t fade into awestruck wonder. The hard, flat expressions of mistrust. Of resentment.

 

There were those who didn’t, wouldn’t, maybe even _couldn’t_ trust another person to rule over them after Octavia. Those who, faced with this strange child they had never seen, even _before_ the end of the world, preferred Bloodreina, a tried and tested ruler. Strong. Seasoned. A woman of war, who would rather bathe in the blood of her enemies than bow to them; who marched fearlessly into battle, staring into the eyes of the spirit of death and yet, was not afraid.

 

He had watched the looks - of awe and hate and everything else in between - and had worried, filing away his impressions to consider later.

 

But even those looming clouds on the horizon hadn’t been able to dim the unfamiliar pride that shined in his chest as he worked with Madi to restore order.

 

He’d looked at her and thought, maybe in _this_ , in the possibility of Madi being unable to bear the burden of Command, Clarke had been wrong, because this girl was smart and strong and a natural leader. It all couldn’t come from just the chip. He’d looked at her and he’d seen Clarke in her so strongly it hadn’t been a struggle then, to see her as Clarke’s daughter. He’d looked at her and thought: if anyone could survive this burden, it would be her.

 

And he’d make sure of that. She wouldn’t be alone.

 

Especially not with Gaia and Indra glued to Madi’s side. For guidance he assumed, as every so often he'd see Gaia lean in and whisper discreetly in Madi’s ear. And protection; the blank, hardness of Indra’s face almost more imposing than the sword strapped to her hip.

 

He’d seen Miller and Octavia being led to the cells.

 

But he hadn’t seen Kane. Or Abby. Or Jackson and a couple of other people from the ark.

 

So, a part of him had hoped that maybe it was because of all the activity and bustling change that he hadn't been able to catch more than a glimpse of Clarke at a time; a flash of gold, always just at the periphery of his vision before it disappeared.

 

(He'd caught her gaze only once and that completely by accident - working with the grounders to clear out the houses and take inventory of the items, dividing them into useful and non-useful piles - the moment their eyes met and locked had sent tiny shocks shooting clear down his spine. They’d been vaguely sad, he remembers, and hollow in a way he’d never seen, as if the real Clarke existed somewhere deep inside herself and this Clarke was merely going through the motions of living. Her eyes had widened when they caught his, clarity brightening her gaze for a handful of precious seconds. Then she’d probably remembered they weren’t friends anymore and her eyes had dimmed again; Clarke turned and was gone as if she'd never been and Bellamy was left staring at her back swallowing down the sudden thickness in his throat.)

 

He had no idea if she was helping Won-kru settle or if she was just keeping to herself in some secluded location.

 

What he did know was that she'd made no attempt to talk to any of them – not him, not Echo, Monty, Harper, Murphy, Emori, not even Raven.

 

And he could understand why she was mad at him, why she needed her space from him, but the others? He'd thought by now she'd have at least tried to reach out to them.

 

He glances back at Clarke and frowns. Six cups now. He doesn’t know who the hell keeps giving her drinks because he’s had an eye on her the entire night and he hasn’t seen her go and get one once.

 

Monty’s moonshine is strong enough that three cups have him loose and fuzzy, feeling a little like he’s floating happily in his own body. He can’t imagine what six would do. But then maybe he was just being over- protective. And besides Clarke had made it clear that she wanted nothing more to do with him. He couldn’t be a part of her life anymore, so what was the point of worrying about her, right?

 

Right.

 

“Hey, do you think Clarke’s having a bit too much to drink?” he asks anyway, because apparently, not only has his mouth completely disconnected itself from his brain, but he’s a  huge sap and maybe if the others agreed, he’d have an excuse to get up and do something about it.

 

But almost instantly the old tension comes crashing back. The very air that surrounds them seems fragile and brittle and Bellamy marvels that this is what just mentioning her name does now.

 

Clarke’s absence was this festering wound they were all trying to pretend didn’t exist but pretending couldn’t change the fact that it hurt. Ignoring it wouldn’t make it heal, it would only make it get worse. So that was something he’d probably have to fix…

 

Then, unexpectedly: “you would know, you haven’t been able to keep your eyes off her all night.”

 

Raven’s voice is quiet but there is a subtle accusation in her words, in her eyes when she glances up at him.

 

Bellamy’s mouth parts in surprise.

 

“That’s not – I wasn’t,” his gaze shoots to Echo whose eyes are already on him. There is a question that is not a question in them, so subtle it looks more like detached curiosity than anything. But he knows Echo. “It’s not like that.” He says, directly to her. Her gaze stays on his, searching. He doesn’t know what she finds before she turns to face Raven again, leaving him staring at her profile.

 

“It’s fine.” She says simply, “you don’t owe me an explanation."

 

Her face doesn’t give it any reason to, but he feels his heart sink anyway.

 

“Yes, I do. And It’s not like that,” he repeats firmly, to Raven this time.

 

She arches a skeptical eyebrow at him but doesn’t push. Instead she says, “She’s a big girl Bellamy, I’m sure she can take care of herself.”

 

There’s an edge of bitterness there that points to a simmering resentment Bellamy knows will explode before long even though Raven hasn’t touched a cup of moonshine all night.

 

(In fact, she seemed to be going out of her way to avoid it all week. Even after the battle, when they’d crowded together in the temporary room allocated to them, passing around an old bottle of moonshine from the ark, she’d recoiled from it like it was poison. _Something_ had happened to her while she was in this valley that she hasn’t told them, and Bellamy makes a note to find out later.)

 

Unlike the others, who are somewhat loose with alcohol, even in their reactions to Clarke, Raven is wound tight, everything about her anger sharp and clear in the tense lines of her body even as her face remains impassive and her voice remains soft.

 

He knows she’s right, and yet…

 

His gaze flickers to Clarke of its own accord.

 

He startles at the sight of a strange grounder suddenly in her personal space.

 

Bellamy can’t be too sure from this distance, but he looks like a fairly solid guy, tall, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Skin the color of polished ebony, probably encasing a well-muscled frame. His hair is cropped low - tightly coiled black strands forming about an inch of densely packed curls – and stray flickers of light from the bonfire highlight the edges of clothes from a clan he’s never seen. He’s leaning over her and with Clarke’s face lifted up to look at him, Bellamy can catch a clearer view of her expression, even if only in profile.

 

His entire body seems to tighten in response to Clarke’s frown, his every muscle readying itself to propel him to her in record time.

 

The grounder’s mouth is moving, the white glint of his teeth flashing. Clarke’s frown stays for several long seconds until the white glint fades. Bellamy’s just about getting ready to shift Echo off of his lap when he sees the guy say something else.

 

Whatever it is eases the frown on Clarke’s face. Has her blinking up at him. She doesn’t return his recovering smile but her frown is gone as she ignores the cup he offers and takes the one he’d been keeping for himself. Grounder guy throws his head back and laughs, before sinking beside Clarke. Comfortably close. Like they’ve been friends forever and do this all the time.

 

Bellamy feels his jaw clench and has to make a conscious effort to relax it.

 

Like Raven said, Clarke’s a big girl. She can take care of herself. She can talk to or not talk to anyone she likes. She isn’t Octavia.

 

And even with Octavia, look at how well him trying to protect her from everything turned out.

 

(But he’s not thinking about Octavia.)

 

“What the hell happened to everyone in the six years that we were gone, anyway?”

 

Bellamy forces himself to take his eyes off of Clarke and return his attention to Raven who’s glaring into the fire at nothing.

 

“It’s like they’ve all lost their minds, Clarke, Abby, Marcus, Octavia, Miller – ” Though he’d known  it was there, he’s still surprised by the sheer amount of bitterness in her voice. He gets that it’s been a rough homecoming, in many ways, but again he gets the sense that there’s more to Raven’s anger than she’s told them.

 

“Raven – ” He tries, his voice gentle. They were having such a nice night.

 

But she steamrolls right over him, a scowl forming, the flames of the bonfire writhing in her dark eyes.

 

“According to you Octavia turned into some blood crazy dictator. _Octavia_. The girl who hated any form of authority or government on the ark and just wanted to chase freaking butterflies. Kane double- crossed us to side with Diyoza, another sociopathic piece of work –

 

“Raven – ” Echo tries as well, her voice soothing but Raven surges to her feet, suddenly towering over them, getting more worked up by the second, “Clarke, _Clarke_ pointed a freaking gun at us, at _me_ for trying to remove a shock collar she put on her own daughter!? And Abby – ”

 

Her voice breaks unexpectedly, and Bellamy’s eyes widen. There it is. That’s the root of this.

 

Raven swallows, looking suddenly, intensely vulnerable as she blinks away the tell-tale sheen of moisture sheen over her eyes.

 

“Abby…” Everything about her seems to harden in an instant, expression suddenly like stone. “Well let’s just say, like mother like daughter, right? What the hell happened in six years to make us the enemy!”

 

“I don’t _know_ Raven.” He’d be on his feet now too if Echo wasn’t in his lap. As it is he starts to get up, only to find her palm on his chest, a subtle warning in her eyes.  “I don’t know.” he says again, softer, leaning back. He’ll ask her later, what happened with Abby; what’s causing the fury blazing in her dark eyes, the pain threatening to her make her bottle lip tremble before raven twists her features into a much safer scowl.

 

“I have no idea what’s going on, okay Ray. All I know from my time in that bunker is that they’ve been through a lot. They’ve had to fight and kill to survive. That’s how they settled all their issues. I don’t know why Kane betrayed us or what happened with Abby,” Her mouth tightens into a thin line, her jaw clenching and yeah, that’s something they’re definitely going to have to talk about.

 

“Clarke…Clarke just needs some space, I think.”

 

Raven scoffs and drops back down to the log she was sitting on, squeezing her arms around her legs until her whole body has formed a tight knot. She rests her chin on her legs. “Right, because whenever shit goes down Clarke always needs ‘some space’. You know for someone who’s supposed to be so dependable, she’s awfully good at leaving us all behind.”

 

“That’s not true Raven,” Harper interjects quietly. They all look at her with some surprise; caught in their little maelstrom of drama, it was so easy to forget that there were other people around.

 

She looks first at Raven, then at Bellamy and then at Echo, gaze flicking steadily between the three of them. “She thought she was going to die when she offered to fix the satellite. She was ready to _die_ for us. She didn’t die. She’s spent the last six years here, all alone, except for Madi, which she apparently, she loves like a daughter. Then Diyoza and McCreary come down. And we come down. And Octavia comes out of the bunker. And everything goes to hell. It’s a lot Raven and she’s allowed to need some space. She’s allowed to take time to deal. This was her home, and now its not. We were her friends, and now after everything that’s gone down maybe she doesn’t know what we are to her anymore. I don’t think she’s trying to hurt us. Hell, maybe her staying away has nothing to do with us, maybe she just needs some time to adjust.”

 

“We _all_ need time to adjust, we came from six years of floating around in the sky to another freaking war.”

 

“This was her _home_ Raven.”

 

Raven sprang to her feet, all that tightly coiled tension exploding upwards, “ _So_ _what_ we’re supposed to be her _friends_. I get that she might not be overjoyed to have a bunch of strangers all around but that’s not us!”

 

“Isn’t it?” and now Harper’s standing too. “Do you have any idea what her life’s been like for the past six years, who she is now? Because I can at least admit that _I_ _don’t_ which is why I’m not trying to pretend like everything’s the same. And you know what, it doesn’t help that all you’ve done since we’ve gotten here is glare at her – ”

 

“Whoa, are you saying that Clarke staying away is my fault? That I’m what, scaring her away? Like she isn’t the girl who faced down a freaking panther. You know what, I would give her a piece of my mind if she wasn’t so busy avoiding us that we barely see her -”

 

“No, I’m not trying to blame you. I’m saying give her a fucking break and you know what, if you miss her so much, she’s right there -”

 

 “Hey guys come on don’t fight – ” Monty says uneasily, trying to pacify his girlfriend and his friend. He’s holding onto harper’s arm, grounding her because it looked like she was about to step closer and Raven has shifted too, body tense like a snake ready to strike.

 

“That’s enough.” Echo’s voice is hard and firm, cracking over them like a whip. It’s enough to break the tension between them, two pairs of startled eyes focusing on her. “You two are misplacing both your anger, and your emotions. You’re not enemies…and neither is Clarke. This is a tough, unprecedented situation all around. Till we have more information, till we’ve gathered all the facts,” her eyes flicker to Raven’s, a subtle warning there, “Let’s not jump to unnecessary conclusions. It’s been a week. We’ve won a nearly unwinnable war. We’re all alive, including Clarke, even if she’s not physically here with us. Let’s just focus on that and enjoy these small victories before a new challenge comes.”

 

“Here, here,” Monty murmurs, symbolically lifting his cup of moonshine.

 

Raven and Harper are slow to thaw, but they do, Harper carefully re-taking her seat beside Monty and Raven returning to her position on the log.

 

“I’m sorry,” Raven throws out eventually, after a few uncomfortable seconds have passed, gaze finding Harper’s briefly. She’s still frowning, the words pushed through a jaw that is clenched tight, but Bellamy recognizes this for what it is: evidence of Raven’s own inner turmoil rather than any indication of hostility.

 

Harper shrugs a shoulder, leaning once more into Monty’s side, his arm coming around her shoulders. “I miss her too.” Is all she says, striking at the heart of the matter with unnerving accuracy.

 

Raven’s expression darkens. She turns back to the fire without saying a word. A heavy silence blankets them as they take in Harper’s words.

 

Bellamy squeezes Echo’s waist in a silent well-done, let’s the corner of his mouth flick up when she glances back at him.

 

Now, if he can just dispel some of this tension…

 

But just as he’s about to speak, a flash of gold catches his eye.

 

It’s Clarke, standing as if to leave. That grounder is with her, smiling more than any grounder Bellamy has ever seen and certainly more than any human being should have a right to.

 

He can’t hear what they’re saying but he sees when Clarke takes a step and staggers, all the moonshine apparently affecting her sense of balance. The grounder is there in an instant, hands on her waist as he steadies her, much too close, much too familiar, lips at her ear while he whispers something to her.

 

“Bellamy?” a voice asks.

 

“Hmm?”

 

When the grounder pulls back, Clarke smirks. The sight of it is an almost physical shock to his system. After everything that’s happened, he never thought he’d see such levity in her expression again.

 

He can’t hear if she says anything back, but the way she takes hold of his hand and begins leading him towards the outer fringes of the forest is pretty telling.

 

It’s none of his business. Clarke is a grown ass woman who’s perfectly capable of making good, rational decisions.

 

She’s also a woman that’s hurt, angry and feeling alone. Or she was the last time they spoke together.

 

Not to mention, if the number of cups and her earlier stumble were any indication, very, very drunk.

 

And with a strange man he doubts she even knows.

 

A man who’d been trying to get her even drunker.

 

“You’re kind of glaring.”

 

“Mm-hm.”

 

Smoothly, he shifts Echo from his lap and onto his seat as he stands, hands flexing.

 

When he glances at the group, they’ve followed his gaze and are watching Clarke leave with the grounder with varying expressions ranging from curiosity, to confusion, to the hard blankness of Raven’s expression and the sheer unreadability of Echo’s.

 

“I’m sorry, I’ll be right back.” He tells her.

 

She looks at him for a moment, that same careful lack of expression still on her face before she shrugs. As responses go, it’s as neutral as he could have hoped for.

 

(He wonders then, why it makes his stomach churn. Why it feels like he can feel her gaze searing into his back as he leaves.)

 

(Why none of these things are enough to stop him.)

 

Bellamy Blake sees Clarke and grounder guy plunge into the darkness of the surrounding forest.

 

And then he plunges in after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys :)
> 
> Sorry if it's been a minute. But, on the plus side, I do have a new chapter for you. Nearly 20,000 words of it in fact, lol.
> 
> However, that seemed like too much to post all at once, so I'm splitting it into two. 
> 
> Expect the next update hopefully sometime within the week.
> 
> Feel free to hit me up in the comments, i love hearing what you think.
> 
> And as always, I hope you enjoyed.


	3. Chapter 3

Bellamy hurries through a pitch-black forest given ghostly white highlights by the pale light of the moon, it’s quiet stillness downright eerie after the life and noise of the celebration before.

The silence presses against him, an oppressive weight warning of dangers not yet averted. Clarke is in here, most likely drunk, with some strange man she does not know. If he was hurting her, if she tried to scream for help, no one would hear.

Except Bellamy. Because apparently, he’s the idiot that can’t stand to let his friends be hurt, even when they want nothing to do with him.

***

There’s a break in the dense formation of trees, a ring of wider open space; the moon seems to shine brighter here, throwing Clarke and her companion in stark relief.

It illuminates his grip around Clarke's waist, holding her close where they lean against the tree. The eager slide of Clarke's mouth against his, one hand fisted in in dense curls, the other in the back of his shirt as if, if she holds on tight enough, pulls him in tight enough, he can somehow get closer to her than he is already.

Bellamy stops.

His heart is thudding, too-fast and too-heavy in his chest. His face feels burning hot, but his body feels cold, a numbness spreading through his limbs that keeps him rooted where he is, transfixed.

He recognizes in Clarke's touch, a kind of desperation that can't be attributed to just desire. He saw it in Raven, when she’d stormed into his tent after finding out about Finn’s infidelity. He sees it now in the crush and bite of Clarke’s mouth against the grounder’s, in the too-fast fumble of her fingers at his belt. The grounder places his hand in the hollow of Clarke's throat, applies pressure, and there's a roaring in Bellamy’s ears that only fades when it strikes him how the touch gentles Clarke; how, with his hand over her heart, the weight of his body behind it, his lips moving from her mouth to her jaw, to the column of her neck, Clarke sags into the tree with something like gratitude; how she tilts her head upwards, giving him more access, and in the soft exhale she releases, there is something like relief.

The cold numbness in his body seeps into his heart as he watches this perfect stranger bring Clarke some measure of peace.

Bathed in moonlight and shadows, Clarke looks like some personification of the dichotomy between good and evil, some ethereal spirit of light and darkness. Her skin glows gently, the lines of her collarbones and the shifting tendons in her neck a beautiful contrast to the creamy expanse of her. When she opens her eyes, they are midnight blue pools reflecting the silver light of the moon.

Clarke is a tree nymph, a faery, a vampire, a siren – every enchanting mythological creature that has ever captured a man's heart by just...existing.

He feels a pang of…he doesn’t know what in this moment. Shock maybe.

Longing.

Regret.

For the time they could have had, to figure out exactly who and what they were to each other before everything went to hell.

It surprises him – the strength of it.

He’s never really seen Clarke as a sexual being; capable of giving and receiving pleasure.

(Wanting pleasure…. Needing pleasure.)

She was beautiful, yeah. Dare he say, a blond-haired blue-eyed kind of gorgeous on a good day, sure.

But _always_ his best friend. His partner. His person. In a zone all her own.

And every relationship she’s ever been in has taken place behind closed doors…he’s never so much as seen her hold hands in public.

Now he watches her arch against the mouth pressed against her neck, against the hands slipping under her shirt and feels the door of his understanding being prised open, this new awareness of Clarke filtering through.

Clarke Griffin… a woman.  

A sexy, sensual, beautiful woman…

To think that he’d hated her at first…

Absolutely despised her in the same way the rest of the hundred had instinctively hated wells. She stood for the Ark. For the separation of the privileged from the less privileged; those with power from those without. For every rule that allowed his mother to be taken away from him and forced his sister to live beneath the floor for eighteen years.

Clarke Griffin: the blond haired-blue eyed princess from the sky, and he'd _hated_ her.

Then he'd seen her strength.

First, in her unwavering determination to save Jasper despite the threat of the grounders. And then when she’d calmly slid her knife into Adams neck to ease his suffering, singling softly to him the entire time. Bellamy’s entire being had lit up with shocked respect. Adam had begged him to kill him and he hadn't been able to do it, his hand shaking as he'd turned away. But Clarke had, and the new eyes he’d looked at her with from that day on had allowed him to see so many other things as well.

Like how much Clarke cared.

For everyone, all the time. Not because she had to, but because it was such an intrinsic part of who she was.

(she'd told him once that he had such a big heart. Well, he thinks Clarke's heart is pretty freaking big as well.)

Her bravery and courage in meeting with Anya.

 

Her resourcefulness in her alliance with Lexa.

 

Her strength, again, in easing Finn’s pain.

 

(Always her strength; so much strength from Clarke)

 

Her suffering.

 

(Always too, her suffering.)

 

Her intelligence in her plan to bring down the mountain.

 

Her fun - side as she'd _destroyed_ the others in beer pong, laughing the whole time, happy and loose.

 

And maybe most striking of all, he'd seen how she saw him – as the kind of man that he'd always wanted to be but feared maybe he never would.

She'd looked at him and seen strength, courage and intelligence too and Bellamy - Bellamy had felt so much for this woman who looked at all the broken, fragmented parts of him, who knew he'd helped murder 300 people in their sleep and could still lay a hand on his chest and speak of his big heart. This woman who made him a better man.

He’d loved Clarke as a sister and a friend and a co-leader and he’d never had the chance to tell her exactly what she meant to him. Or to explore, even for himself, if there was any other way he _could_ love her. Because first there’d been Finn, then Lexa. Then Gina had died, and he'd been angry at Clarke, at the grounders, at himself, at everyone. Then he'd killed the 300 and he couldn't be angry at Clarke anymore because he was so _guilty_ , so wrapped up in himself and the darkness of his emotions at that time. He'd carried that grief, that shame, that guilt with him all the way until Praimfaya and it had shrunk him, muted his interactions with her, as Bellamy withdrew those injured parts of his heart into himself and buried them.

And now…

Now he guesses he’ll never know.

Satisfied that Clarke is apparently just fine, Bellamy moves to turn away, his heart a leaden weight in his chest.

At almost the same instant, Clarke lowers her head and opens her eyes, silvery pools meeting his.

And the whole world goes still.

Bellamy’s breath catches in his throat.

Her eyes widen, surprise chasing away pleasure.

Bellamy is frozen in a body that no longer feels like his own.

The moment seems to stretch on forever.

He’s not expecting the way Clarke’s eyes dim, the way she turns her face away as if it hurts just to look at him.

Her hands go to the grounder’s chest, as if to push him away.

Instead he presses closer with a moan that drifts to Bellamy from where he stands, and like a curtain falling, a haze of red descends over Bellamy’s vision. His cold heart suddenly bursts into flames and almost before he’s aware of what he’s doing, Bellamy has crossed to them in quick strides and tears grounder guy off of her, shoving him so hard he actually falls to the ground.

“Bellamy!” Clarke's shocked rebuke bounces off him.

For a crazy moment he considers simply tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her away from this place where strange men are trying to ravage her.

Then the grounder is getting up, his face twisted into a snarl, a rapid burst of angry speech falling from his lips in a language Bellamy has never heard; lilting and sharp.

He’s about as tall as Bellamy, but up close there’s a leanness to him Bellamy has come to associate with the people of the bunker; an edge of a sheer gritty determination to survive that somehow makes Bellamy feel as if he’s looking up at him. Flawless ebony skin contrasts with eyes a dark, swirling green and a part of Bellamy can see the appeal even if he absolutely hates any bastard trying to take advantage of a woman on principle.

A sharp _shhrk_ announces the sudden presence of a wicked looking curved blade.

Bellamy thinks that at this point, some type of sword is practically a fashion accessory across all the clans.

He gets into the stance Echo taught him for disarming an armed opponent without a second thought.

Before the two of them can fly at each other, however, Clarke shoves her way in between them.

“That’s enough!”

A hand on each of their chests forces them back and then Clarke turns to face the grounder, palms up.

It's irrational, the savage burst of pleasure he feels that even though this guy is the one that got pushed down, that she was kissing, he’s the one she's defending.

Bellamy revels in it anyway.

But there’s no way he’s letting Clarke put herself between him and an angry grounder with a knife. He's just about to gently shift her away when what happens next stops him in his tracks.

“Troy please” is all she says. He can't see her expression, but apparently, it's enough that the grounder visibly softens, his blade lowering.

“You know him?” He asks. His eyes are still angry as they flicker to Bellamy then back to Clarke as if he is of no consequence.

Bellamy bristles, even as Clarke answers, “Yes. I do.” She doesn’t seem particularly inclined to elaborate, even as Troy gives her a confused glance.

“I mean, will you be safe with him?” He presses, an urgency in his tone as mistrustful eyes again flicker to Bellamy.

The nerve of this guy!

Clarke’s firm, “Yes.” Might be the most beautiful thing Bellamy’s ever heard.

He resists the urge to stick out his tongue at Troy because he’s an adult, but nothing can stop him from practically _oozing_ with smug satisfaction.

Troy hesitates for only a moment more before sliding his blade back into its sheath after just one more hard look at Bellamy. “we’ll revisit this conversation later.”

Bellamy bares his teeth in a grim smile. He’ll look forward to it.

Clarke sighs, and Bellamy feels a pang of guilt at how tired it suddenly sounds. “Enough. Both of you. Troy, thank you. Can you please go wait for me in my tent, I’ll meet you there.”

Bellamy’s frown deepens. He knows where her tent is? They’ve been down here for a week and none of Spacekru knows where her ‘tent’ is. Or heck, even that she’s staying in a tent instead of one of the assigned houses. And they’ve known her all their lives.

“ _Sha_ , Clarke.” His eyes flicker to Bellamy, irritation still simmering in his gaze. Bellamy scowls openly at him, squaring his shoulders to make himself look as big as possible and “Troy” scoffs, turning with a roll of his eyes to stalk off into the darkness.

Bellamy’s glad he didn’t try some crap like a goodnight kiss. He would definitely have punched him.

By some unspoken agreement he and Clarke wait for “Troy” to leave.

But when at last his leanly muscled form disappears into the trees. Clarke whirls on him before he can turn to her. Her eyes aren’t silvery anymore, but a deep, flashing blue that causes an appreciative tug in the pit of his stomach despite himself.

“What. The Hell. Is wrong with you.” Clarke bites out, actually punctuates each word with a shove to his chest and it is part surprise, part the sheer force with which she is pushing him that makes him stumble back each time. “Which part of leave me alone,” shove, “we’re not friends anymore”, Shove, “I don’t want you in my life anymore,” shove, “did you not understand!?” _Shove_.

His back thuds against something hard and rough and Bellamy realizes she’s backed him into the tree she was leaning against. She’s glaring at him and the heat of it reminds him of a wild animal whose territory he’s invaded. And yet, for all that obvious anger, he still gets this impression of underlying fragility, of something in her that’s been strained to the point of breaking.

Maybe that’s why when she makes to shove him again as soon as he moves, he allows it, the dull thump of flesh hitting wood the only sound in an otherwise silent forest. A second passes, two of Clarke’s furious breathing. The moment his back separates from the tree though, she shoves him again. And Bellamy takes the hint and stays, back pressed against the tree. He raises his palms in surrender.

It helps. Clarke bares her teeth at him, but she doesn’t push him again and almost despite herself, her breathing slowly evens out.  

 “Why do you always have to ruin everything?”

It comes out as a frustrated whisper, genuinely bewildered, like she’s honestly asking him.

Bellamy swallows. What’s he supposed to say to that?

Her question feels so much bigger than just interrupting her make-out session with ‘Troy’.

It feels like it could cover everything he’s ever done wrong. Like failing to keep Octavia a secret. Like letting those three hundred people on the ark get floated because he’d been trying to save his own skin. Like following Echo to the grounder summit and letting an Azgeda assassin blow up Mount Weather - Killing their people. Killing Gina. Like killing 300 people in their sleep just because he was grieving and hurt and angry; People who had been sent there to protect him – to protect them all. Who wouldn’t have been sleeping in the first place if they hadn’t trusted that they were among friends…

(Bellamy feels the familiar nausea that accompanies the thought and swallows again.)

And most recently, chipping Madi, who had apparently been perfectly safe before he’d descended on her life like a burning ark and wrecked it.

He knows why he made each of those decisions; how, at the time, he’d believed it was the best possible option; that he had no other choice available. And yet, it’s the _way_ he went about them that really seemed to bring about his downfall.

He’s still sorry about how he went about chipping Madi. He thinks, he’ll continue being sorry till he’s sure she’s really okay, till the danger Clarke fears is past her.

Just like he feels the burden of everything he has done and failed to do pressing down on him all the time. Just like how a part of him will be trying to make up for those things for the rest of his life.

He doesn’t need Clarke to remind him of all the things he’s done wrong, he knows.

But this? Having some guy trying to get Clarke even drunker than she already is so he can take advantage of her? He will never regret ruining that.

It’s difficult to confidently declare his truth when she’s this close to him though, still looking so upset.

He hadn’t realized before just _how_ close though, until now – the bare inches that separate them. Her cheeks are flushed, from alcohol or emotion he’s not sure, but her eyes are clear. All the better to communicate her irritation and disappointment with. He can smell the moonshine on her, the clean, alcoholic scent of it clinging to her clothes; to her breath as it washes warm over his face.

(His eyes flicker for just a second down to pink, kiss swollen lips and then flicker away.)

When he straightens, he does so slowly. When he steps away from the tree, it brings them even closer together. Clarke’s eyes widen ever so slightly before she steps back, instinctively creating some much-needed space between them.

(He ignores the way he misses the proximity of her. The itch in his hands that kind of wants to pull her closer and hold her there, against him.)

“I heard you loud and clear last week, I promise. I wasn’t going to come anywhere near you tonight,” he murmurs.

But… maybe that’s not exactly true. Maybe if he’d gotten drunk enough and he’d caught her somewhere with no one else around, he’d probably have drifted over to her, if only to find out if she was alright. He wouldn’t have been able to help it…

But it’s not like he can _say_ that.

“But I saw how much you were drinking,” Clarke’s frown deepens but she doesn’t say anything, still listening. He’s glad actually that she doesn’t try to deny it or brush it off with some excuse like ‘it’s a celebration, everyone’s drinking’. If she’s aware of how much she was drinking, if she isn’t trying to excuse it or hide it then he has to believe that she’s in control of it and that at least, is one less thing he has to worry about. “I saw some strange guy hand you a cup with only god knows what inside it and the next thing I know, you’re following him into some secluded forest when you seem almost too tipsy to stand. Was I just supposed to look the other way?”

“Yes!” It seems to explode out of her, even before she has a chance to think about it, the word hard and bitten out.

“ _No._ ” He objects just as hard, twice as firm, frowning now, “Whoever you think I am now, whatever I’ve done, I will _never_ be the guy that sees a woman possibly about to be taken advantage of by another guy and just walks away.”

Clarke stares at him, her mouth parting slightly in her surprise.

When her eyes soften, just that little bit, it makes his chest tighten in a way that is as dear to him as it is familiar. He never thought he’d see her look at him that way again. It slips between the ridges of his spine like steel disks, reinforcing the entire column until Bellamy can’t help but stand tall, even under the familiar burden of his past. Whatever he’s done, whatever mistakes he’s made, in this at least he knows who he is.

“Still have that big heart I see” she finally murmurs. And he feels that big heart swell about a hundred times larger in his chest.

And then promptly deflate when she continues:

“Bellamy Blake, my knight in not so shining armor. Still rushing into things without thinking them all the way through. Still interfering with things that are none of your business.” Her eyes have taken on a decidedly dangerous gleam. Bellamy decides it’s absurd that he should feel the flicker of nervousness that he does when they narrow, and she begins to advance on him. (He feels it anyway but shoot, he can pretend). “Tell me this Superhero,” she says, and Bellamy would have snorted at that, but he’s too busy being wary of the tone of her voice and the distinctly predatory air she exudes as she nears him.

“Did you happen to notice, when you were saving my virtue from the big, bad grounder, that I was kissing him back?”

The tips of his ears are burning, largely from the sheer amount of teasing mockery in her tone. But his whole body feels warm with the way she deliberately steps into his space again, eyes dark and swirling with some emotion he can’t quite read, her breath mingling with his.

“Or that I was the one who pulled him into this secluded forest in the first place? Or that I was the one who backed him into this tree? Did you manage to see anything other than what you expressly wanted to see?” Her voice is deceptively soft, and the combination of that, and her eyes, and her proximity has Bellamy wanting to shake his head like a dog to clear the haze that seems to be clouding it.

(He doesn’t, of course).

(They’re so _blue_ though.)

But the heat in his ears increases and spreads to his cheeks at the very good points she’s making.

(He vividly remembers the clutch of Clarke’s fingers in Troy’s shirt, holding him closer, pulling him _in_ , as she kissed him. And sure, she put her hands on his chest, like she was about to move him away, but she didn’t actually _push_. Bellamy may have, um, jumped the gun a bit on the whole defending her honor thing…)

Still, he manages to frown, refusing to back down. He knows what he saw. “He was trying to get you drunk Clarke. Even if you were willing, it doesn’t change the fact that he was trying to take advantage of you.”

A single, raised eyebrow somehow manages to convey how entirely unimpressed Clarke is with that argument.

“Water,” she says, and Bellamy’s frown deepens in confusion. Clarke groans, dropping her head for a second as if to gather the remaining shreds of her patience, before she lifts it again.

“It’s possible to have more than one thing in a cup Bellamy; what you saw him handing me was a cup of water. He thought I might need some help sobering up. I didn’t, and I stole his moonshine, but that’s on me.”

She looks at him as if trying to drive home the point by the hardness of her gaze – my business. Not yours.

Bellamy clenches his jaw. He doesn’t even know why he’s resisting this much, it’s not like she’s wrong, it’s just – he’s not prepared to apologize for having her back. He’ll never apologize for that.

“He could have just offered you the water to seem like he was a nice guy. You weren’t exactly drinking responsibly.” He ignores the way her eyes flash at that, refusing to be cowed, “What if he’d gotten violent once he had you here, away from anyone else? If you’d tried to get him to stop and he hadn’t listened or he’d simply been too drunk to, then what?”

“That wouldn’t have been an issue” cold again, irritation flashing in her eyes.

“and why the hell not?” Bellamy counters, his temper flaring suddenly, “that guy was a whole head taller than you, not to mention a couple dozen pounds heavier, and he had freaking knife Clarke, anything could have happened –”

“That wouldn’t have been an issue,” Clarke raises her voice, talking over him, “because there is no way I would have asked him to stop.”

That shocks Bellamy into silence and for a few seconds his mouth simply hangs open.

Clarke lets out a frustrated sigh and rubs at her forehead, her new tell.

“Here’s an idea Blake, maybe I _wanted_ to be taken advantage of tonight. Maybe I wanted someone that I didn’t have any ties to, to make me forget, just for a little while, how I’m feeling right now. Maybe I wanted-” He practically sees her bite down on the rest of the words before she gives any more away.  Her expression clouds over with unspoken emotion and she swallows. It’s one of those moments where Bellamy doesn’t even need to see what she’s feeling to sense it. There’s this rawness to her suddenly, this vulnerability. And equally an almost desperate determination to shrink away from it and feel anything but.

He blinks and feels his earlier anger evaporate like it never existed.

“What is it Clarke, what did you want?” he asks, voice oh so gentle. He reaches for her wrist, thumb stroking soothingly, moved despite himself at the inner turmoil swirling away just beneath the surface of her. “How are you feeling right now?”

She looks up at him, eyes suddenly shiny with tears.

And.

 _Oh_ , something happened this past week. Something _bad_. And she hadn’t told him. Probably wouldn’t ever have told him if he hadn’t placed himself right here, pushing her buttons.

“Clarke?”

“No. _No_.” her voice wavers a little, cracks a little. Angrily, she blinks her tears away and Bellamy can practically see her seizing hold of her emotions and wrestling them back under control. When she removes her wrist from his grasp it is done gently but firmly.

“This isn’t about me. What I want doesn’t matter. How I _feel_ doesn’t matter–“

“How can you even say that, of _course_ it matters –”

“Bellamy!”

She kind of yells it and he pauses, surprised.

She sighs, collecting herself. When she continues, her voice is noticeably quieter.

“He could have killed you. If Troy was anyone else other than who he is, you could be dead right now” her face creases, like just talking about it is causing her physical pain.

It’s Bellamy’s turn to blink, not sure what he’s more taken aback by: the concern Clarke is showing for his wellbeing or the bright flare of warmth that bursts to life in his chest, and then spreads, warming him straight through.

“Oh”

Clarke rubs at her forehead. “yes, oh. Just…stop. Stop acting like you care so much. Stop _interfering_. I already have enough blood on my hands, the last thing I need or _want_ is to have yours too.”

Before he can respond, tell her that he _does care,_ almost as if in response to her own words, he watches her eyes harden and cool.

This close to her again, he’s struck by them - blue and glittering in the moonlight - they remind him of the pictures they used to show on the ark when teaching about the seasons on earth, of stunning snow-covered landscapes and frozen lakes, of winter – cold and harsh and so very beautiful.

“…I’m only going to say this once, so listen up.” she warns, voice low and intense, “We have different priorities now, you made that abundantly clear. You’re not my savior. You’re not my knight. And I don’t want you in my life anymore so just Leave. Me. Alone. Got it?”

He gets it.

But he also thinks that her entire display would be more effective if he didn’t have _eyes_ because, now that he knows to look for the signs and isn’t being distracted by how close she is or new emotional revelations, he notes for the first time, the dark bags under her eyes.

The same moonlight that turned her into a creature with beauty of mythic proportions seems to highlight them starkly, confirming that she is after all only human.

And that’s aside from the fact that she’s noticeably thinner than she was last week, her clothes looser and less defined than they’d been around her arms, thighs and hips.

Clearly, she’s not sleeping or eating well so maybe it shouldn’t be such a surprise that exhaustion seems to fill the lines of her face, easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it, but all too clear now that he _is_.

To say he’s shocked might be an understatement.

This past week has been like a dream for him and Spacekru; everything the ground was always meant to be but had never lived up to: Open expenses of rich green grass, clear wide-open skies streaked with fluffy clouds, a river that _didn’t_ have gigantic sea monsters in it. Small perks like that. Like real meat, with actual spices, cooked to perfection rather than covered in a burnt crust on the outside and remaining suspiciously pink on the inside.

He’d kind of assumed…that even if she was mad at him, even if she hadn’t wanted anything to do with them, at the very least she was happy.

But seeing her like this just makes him feel more confused than ever. She’d got what she wanted right? To be with Madi? Madi relatively safe, the war over?

So why is it that, as strange as the notion is, Clarke still strikes him as a person that is slowly allowing themselves to waste away…

It’s downright terrifying to realize he has no idea why.

Did something happen with Madi? Did they have another fight? Is it her mother? Is it Kane?  Did she get left out of the food and shelter allocations? Is that why she’s staying in a tent somewhere on the outskirts instead of one of the houses? The thoughts rush through his mind one after the other and he can barely consider one before it’s replaced with another.

They stand, locked in a stalemate, Bellamy understanding her words, but unable to yield to them in the way Clarke wants.

Because the thing is…he’s here for her.

Sure, maybe he’s not the stuff from which hero’s are made. Maybe he’s never been able to save the people most important to him when it matters most and maybe he ruins more often than he helps, but if there’s one thing Bellamy Blake absolutely excels at, it’s being there. And now he’s _here_ _for_ _her_ , whether she wants him to be or not. He won’t go bumbling around trying to fix things for her if she doesn’t want him to, he won’t interfere, but he will _be here_ for her. No amount of glaring on her part can change that.

Clarke seems to sense that too because after a long moment, she breaks their staring contest on her own, looking down and sighing. “Just leave me alone Bellamy.”

He clenches his teeth around the immediate, no, that wants to fly out. He can give her space, sure, he’s not trying to be some kind of jerk.

But that’s what it means to be part of a family right? That you won’t ever be left alone again.

Especially not if it seems to be the worst possible thing for you at the moment.

And Clarke _is_ part of his family, even if he’s done a crap job of showing it lately.

He doesn’t try to tell her all this as he watches her walk away, knowing it isn’t the right time. He does intervene with a helpful, “That’s not the way back to the bonfire.”

Clarke’s steps don’t falter for a second. “I’m going back to my tent”

It’s said with a certain tenseness that borders on defiance and when Bellamy remembers why she would be doing that, he feels every muscle in his body go rigid.

Still, when he speaks, he does so carefully, his tone as even as he can manage if a little hard at the edges.

“To Troy?”

“Yes, Bellamy, to Troy” she says, without stopping or turning around.

The surge of irritation he feels surprises him, but not enough that he tries to stop feeling it.

“And what about Madi? What’s she going to be doing while you’re frolicking with this stranger?”

He knows it’s the wrong thing to say as soon as the words slip from his lips, even before the telling way they bring Clarke to an abrupt halt.

He closes his eyes, already apologetic, “I just meant…” He trails of as Clarke slowly turns around to face him. He can’t read the look on her face, just feels this mounting charge in the air, the kind that precedes terrible storms and natural disasters.

He’s expecting an eruption which is why when, after longs seconds pass, Clarke starts laughing, all he can do is stare at her in shock.

At the look on his face, her laughter gets louder until she’s bent over, clutching at her stomach.

Eventually she moves, slightly unsteady on her feet and sinks down against the nearest tree, apparently deciding it’s too much work to stay standing laughing as much as she is.

Bellamy closes the distance between them slowly, a bit bewildered.

“Right,” she manages to say, wiping away tears that have escaped to run down her cheeks, “because now you care about Madi. Okay.”

She chuckles for a bit while Bellamy presses his lips together and considers the merits of telling Clarke that just because he gave her the chip, doesn’t mean he didn’t care.

In the end, he decides the certainty with which it will set Clarke off just isn’t worth it. Caring, and acting in her best interest, are two different things, he can admit that to himself.

Clarke looks at him, takes in his serious expression and that seems to set her off again. She’s full on giggling now.

Bellamy…kind of doesn’t know what to do with this? He’s kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop?

But despite himself, he can feel his lips twitch.

Even if she’s laughing at him, even if it’s mocking his claim to care, even if it’s not necessarily a happy laugh, it still feels good seeing Clarke like this.

The urge to smile fades when he sees her slip a silver flask from an inner pocket of her jacket and take a generous swig of it.

He’d seen the collection of cups around her. Then there was the drink she’d nabbed from the grounder. She’s already a little unsteady on her feet. If not quite ‘slurring every other word, vomit all the contents of her stomach drunk’ this still feels like one drink too many.

(Even though a part of him can’t help but feel an unwelcome flash of respect at her tolerance. Turns out, she hadn’t earned the name ‘party-girl griffin’ for nothing.)

He makes sure to keep his tone light and non-confrontational when he asks, “Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink?”

Clarke pauses with the flask on its way to her lips for another swig. She seems to consider his words, or at least, pretends to consider it, before dismissing his concerns with a bright, “Nope.” She takes another large swig, looking him right in the eyes like she’s daring him to say something.

“Very mature Clarke,” he murmurs.

She gives an easy shrug, taking another swig. “I’m reclaiming my youth”

Bellamy actually has to cough behind his fist to hide his grin. Damn. It shouldn’t be so easy to be like this with her after everything. Yet, here he is, and here they are, and she’s making him smile without even trying. In fact, when she’s determinately being a brat.

 _I’ve really missed you_ , is what he wants to say.

“And if Madi sees you like this?” he points out instead, gently. Maybe he sounds like a hypocrite, but Clarke can’t exactly deny the validity of his points, even if she can laugh at his right to be making them. “You know it’s only going to turn into blackmail power when she’s a teenager.” He adds, trying to lighten his words with a joke.

“Right,” The hint of laughter in Clarke’s voice dies long before she adds, “If she lives that long.”

The chill that suddenly descends on the clearing is an almost tangible thing.

“…Right” Something in his gut clenches at that, at the reminder of the possibility of Clarke’s daughter dying as Heda. At the fact that it would be his fault.

Bellamy blows out a heavy breath.

Clarke considers her flask, suddenly apparently fascinated by the design on it. He’s not close enough to take it in in detail, but he can at least make out that it’s covered in a pattern of vines and leaves, beautiful even at a distance. He wonders if it was a present.

She continues, still without looking at him, delivering her news with a casualness that is deceptively reassuring until Bellamy takes in the actual words.

“And you don’t have to be concerned about Madi seeing me like this. I won’t be seeing Madi tonight.”

The words should sting, but Clarke’s tone is so sad, it loses most of its acidity.

She looks so worn down all of a sudden. All the angry, stubborn defiance bleeding away, to be replaced by a kind of hollowness that is physically painful to look at. Her exhaustion suddenly shines through, Clarke drooping forward even while she’s sitting down, shoulders hunched, and Bellamy thinks, finally, things are starting to make sense, even as they make no sense at all.

Of course, she was drinking, of course she was angry, of course she was sad, she hadn’t seen her daughter for a whole week.

But in which universe did Clarke Griffin not see her daughter for a whole week?

Carefully he considers her, the stunned silence caused by this admission stretching taut with the weight of all his questions while Clarke quietly drinks from her flask.

Eventually he asks, “Did something happen to her? Is it the chip? Or… Did something happen between the two of you?”

The corner of Clarke’s lip lifts but her eyes are dull as she stares blankly at some spot in front her.

“I wish, that would be easier to handle. There are very few things Madi won’t forgive for a cool new haircut.” The fondness she has for her daughter is evident in her voice and for a second, there’s a renewed spark in Clarke’s eyes, amused as she remembers some fragment of their past.

Then she blinks, and the spark is extinguished, that aching emptiness rushing back in.

“Apparently I don’t have a daughter anymore.”

It’s said so matter of factly that Bellamy blanches.

For once, the coldness in Clarke’s voice isn’t directed at him. He recognizes that coldness, recognizes when Clarke is trying to distance herself from her emotions, to make herself numb…

Frowning concernedly, he moves into Clarke’s eyeline and approaches her slowly, making sure she can both see and hear him. Clarke stiffens mid-drink, eyes suddenly tracking his advance.

It’s the strangest experience to feel the tangible warning in the air, growing stronger the closer he gets. Bellamy ignores it. Ignores the goosebumps rising on his arms, and the way the hairs at the back of his neck prickles.

In some far corner of his mind, he marvels at how they could have ever thought this girl ‘soft’. If he ever thinks of her as ‘princess’ again, it will be with all the irony of knowing that Clarke is the farthest thing from. He wonders, if she knows, how completely she embraces the image of the Commander of Death; if she understands just how well her title suits her, even when she’s not trying. Though, he might just keep that observation to himself. He doubts Clarke would appreciate the comparison.

When he stops in front of her, a few feet between them, Clarke’s eyes are smoldering.

For a moment he considers planting himself just like this and demanding that she talk to him; meeting her stubbornness with stubbornness of his own. It barely takes any effort to imagine the way the coals of frustration and anger in Clarke’s eyes will burst into flames.

He remembers, that at least part of the reason they’re here, in the first place, is because he made a decision for Clarke that wasn’t his to make. He took a choice from her.

If he stands here, and tries to do that again, by forcing Clarke to talk to him, because it’s what he thinks is best, all he’ll be doing is repeating that mistake and destroying whatever hope there is, as slim as it might look now, of ever repairing their friendship.

He’s not here to make demands of her. Or make himself feel better by pretending they’re friends.

He’s just…here.

On her terms.

However, she wants him.

Clarke doesn’t command him; not the way she does the others. He doesn’t take orders from her.

But…that’s never stopped him from offering himself. It’s never stopped him from having her back.

And maybe, back in that room, when he’d looked down at her and said, ‘this is happening, deal with it.’ …maybe, he’d forgotten that.

But maybe he’s trying to remember what that means.

So, he surrenders, mentally and physically. So, he surrenders, mentally and physically. Let’s his body relax, rolls his shoulders, loosens his stance, shoves his hands into his pockets, and just stands there – an offering.

Clarke arches an eyebrow at him, and when he just shrugs. Her eyes narrow. They flicker between his, searching.

He stands still, opening himself to it.

It takes the longest time, and Bellamy is just beginning to feel like an idiot because Clarke’s said nothing at all in what feels like hours, when something in her expression shifts.

It’s subtle; too subtle to name. But when at last Clarke leans her head back, and looks at him through hooded eyes, that ever-present anger that’s been tainting their interactions is, if not completely gone, dimmed.

He quietly releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. It’s the closest to acquiescence he’s going to get from Clarke the way they are now.

He goes to sit beside her but he’ careful about respecting her space, makes sure their arms and legs aren’t touching before he rests against the tree.

It takes a long time for Clarke to open up.  Long enough that Bellamy starts to feel foolish for waiting, tugging blades of grass out with his fingers and thinking that maybe he’s misread the entire situation, and all she wanted was for him to leave.

His stomach sinks.

He tosses the grass away and brushes his hands, preparing to stand.

That’s when Clarke begins to talk.

***

_Clarke walks to the house that had been hers and Madi’s, instinctively knowing that would be where Madi was._

_Her fight with Bellamy has left her drained. Empty. Like some vitally important part of her has been ripped out. The fact that Clarke did the ripping doesn’t help when her hand was forced by necessity. She won’t have a wildcard she can’t trust, making decisions that put the one person that has been most important in her life for all these years in danger._

_…She shouldn’t have mentioned that bit about Echo though; feels like she exposed too much of herself with that single statement and it’s left her feeling raw; vulnerable in a way she despises after declaring that they’re not even friends. Worsened by the fact that Bellamy was once her **best** friend…_

_Clarke sighs._

_She’s tired. She’s so very tired._

_She doesn’t want to think about Bellamy anymore._

_The house is on the fringes of the town, rather than in the center. It helped Madi’s nightmares, to not be surrounded by the homes where her friends and family had happily lived, and tragically died; some slowly, with the black rains and the radiation storms, and then all at once when Praimfaya finally hit, clearing out the remainders._

_Clarke had asked what happened to Madi’s mother once, in the early days when they were still just getting to know each other. Madi’s eyes had gone distant and unfocused, then she’d shrugged without looking at Clarke. She didn’t want to talk about it._

_One late night, three years later, she’d suddenly told her._

_They’d been full, sleepy and content as they lay on soft, fragrant grass and gazed up at the night sky. Clarke had breathed it in, the cool, clean smell of the open air, felt the warmth of Madi ’s form against her side where they were touching and knew that this moment was real and felt glad to be alive._

_Then, suddenly Madi rolled over onto her side, her head pillowed on her hand, all her attention on Clarke. Clarke was too relaxed to do more than turn her head, and when she did she gave Madi an easy smile. Madi’s mouth curved automatically in response, but her face was uncharacteristically serious. She seemed to be taking in every detail of Clarke’s features. This in itself wasn’t strange. Being one of the only two people ostensibly still alive on the earth inevitably took its toll and often, they would need to ground themselves in reality. To prove, even if only to themselves, that they were still alive and everything around them was real._

_Clarke preferred physical activity in those moments when she felt especially disconnected; when she wasn’t sure if she’d collapsed somewhere in the wasteland, and this was all a pleasant dream while her body lay dying, or if she had actually died and this was some bizarre version of the after life._

_(After Alie and the City of Light, it wasn’t exactly like she could take anything for granted.)_

_So, Clarke would run, as fast as she could, from end to end of the valley. She would swim, climb, hunt, anything, everything, until her lungs were screaming, and every bone ached, and her entire body complained so loudly she knew without a doubt that she couldn’t be dead. (And this couldn’t be the afterlife, because no way would Clarke’s version of it involve so much flipping exercise. Just. No.)_

_Often, she’d let herself cuddle with Madi; she’d take in her warmth, her scent, the rhythm of her heart and be content that this was real, that she could not possibly have made this astonishing little person up._

_Madi chose to walk through the houses in the town’s center; one of the only times she would. Friends’ houses, family’s houses, her neighbors’ houses. She’d look at all the empty spaces where people should have been and remember how this one died, and how that one died and know that the memories were too horrible, too detailed in the way they were burned into her memory to have been made up._

_Clarke was her favorite way of grounding herself though._

_She’d lie, or sit, or stand, and look at each of Clarke’s features one by one. The scars on her hands. Her shoulder. A birthmark here, a freckle there, asking for the stories behind the more interesting ones._

_(That was how Clarke got into the habit of telling her stories in the first place.)_

_She’d prove to herself, over and over, that Clarke was real. And if Clarke was real, then everything that had happened, had happened and they were both still alive. On her worst days, when the nightmares, or the sadness, or the aching loss got too much, she liked to touch; tracing Clarke’s features one by one, running her fingers over the arch of her eyebrows. The curve of Clarke’s eyes. Her nose. Her ears. Her cheekbones. And when she was done and she was satisfied Clarke was here, she’d burrow into her as if, if she pressed close enough, Clarke would be her shield against the world._

_As she’d grown older, the instances she’s needed to be grounded had lessened, but the motions of it were the same._

_That night, Madi had rolled over, traced all of Clarke’s features with her eyes and told her how her parents died._

_The acid rain had come without warning, an unforgiving torrent of burning black water that ate away at everything it touched. Her mother had been out in the fields when it caught her, stripping away skin and leaving long strips of raw flesh. By the time they’d managed to find her, bring her in, and wash her off, she was halfway to dead. Her hair had been scorched off of one side of her scalp, the skin under it red and irritated, blind in one eye and fading fast. Already overwhelmed by the strain of catering for at least half the village that were similarly injured, nothing the village healer could do had helped._

_Madi’s mother had died like that, slowly, painfully. Wasting away into nothingness._

_Her father had died the way all the others had, when the death cloud had rolled, huge and malevolent over the valley, leaving the trees and fish untouched but killing the people with its radiation._

_She’d told Clarke this the way people rattled off facts, detached and unemotional while Clarke listened with growing horror._

_Only the brimming of her eyes gave her away. And when Madi lowered her head at last, to rest it against Clarke’s shoulder, Clarke rolled right over and gathered her properly in her arms._

_Madi didn’t cry often; she hated showing that particular brand of vulnerability, even to Clarke. But she’d clung to Clarke that night, burrowing into her the way she had when she was younger._

_Like Clarke was the only real thing in her universe._

_Like Clarke could protect her from the entire world._

***

_When the familiar house becomes visible, Clarke’s relief is so powerful she feels weak with it._

_But as she nears, she finds that relief being replaced by sharp apprehension instead._

_Two guards stand directly in front of the door._

_Three more down the stairs, forming a chain designed to block the way to Heda._

_Blocking her way._

_With a small frown, Clarke straightens her spine and gathers the last remnants of her strength before she approaches._

_For a moment, she thinks that it really will be that simple. That instructions have already been given to let her in as soon as she appears._

_Then Clarke tries to take the one step that will bring her level with the line of guards and instead two spears come crashing down in an ‘X’ front of her, stopping her in her tracks._

_Her frown deepens as she glares at the two guards. Their faces aren’t one’s she recognizes from Lexa’s tower in polis and the grounder’s have long since stopped wearing the marks of their separate clans. She has no idea if they’re Trikru, or Sankru or from any other Clan that Clarke has never actually interacted with._

_Except now, apparently, Madi commands them all._

_And they’re blocking her way._

_“Move.” She’s too tired, too heartsick, and now, too wary to make it sound like anything other than a command._

_The guards exchange glances, and Clarke is pleased to note that their manner is tinged with nervousness.  The spears loosen, lower but do not disappear, which irritates her to no end._

_“Forgive us, Wanheda.” One speaks, gaze pointed to the ground, instead of looking directly at her._

_This display of deference is as new as it is surprising. She’d always had the respect of the people after the mountain. Had grown to something of a legend even. But this is different. This is_ **reverence** _that is radiating from him._ **Reverence** _that is directed at her. It is almost enough to surprise her out of her anger. Almost. “But we have orders not to let anyone in. Not even you.”_

_Clarke is torn between a surge of frustration and hurt. “By M…By Heda?” It will take a while to get used to that._

_“No, Wanheda –”_

_“By me.” She had been so focused on the guards, that she hadn’t even noticed Gaia exiting the building. She approaches Clarke now, at a measured pace, considering her as she comes._

_There’s something about the expression on her face, or rather, the careful lack of expression that has alarm bells ringing in Clarke’s mind._

_“Gaia?”_

_“That will be Flamekeeper to you.”_

_Clarke’s eyebrows rise in surprise, then lower in a frown._

_“What game are you playing?” she asks quietly._

_Gaia looks at her for a long time. Then with the flick of her hand, she dismisses the guards. After nervous glances at the both of them, they wisely make themselves scarce._

_“No game.” She says eventually. “I’m stating facts. You’re not dealing with me in a personal capacity. You’re dealing with me as the keeper of the flame. A representative of Heda’s interests, as the bearer of the flame.”_

_Clarke feels her mouth tighten into a thin line._

_So that was the way it was going to be then._

_With those few words, Gaia had created a clear distinction, between Heda and Madi; the bearer of the flame and the twelve-year-old child whose life would be sacrificed to that flame to keep the legacy of Heda burning. Clarke had already had the unfortunate experience of being acquainted with one Flamekeeper. She wasn’t particularly eager to be acquainted with another._

_(Specifically, she’d seen the way Titus had put Heda above Lexa at every turn, **despite** the fact that it was Lexa he cared for. How he’d done everything to smother the light of the girl beneath the mask; to extinguish her hope, her compassion, her love and mold her into the person **he** thought Heda should be_. _The idea of anyone else doing the same to Madi, the thought of **Gaia** doing the same to Madi makes all Clarke’s hackles rise.]_

_“So, which one of your split-personalities promised that you’d never force Madi to take the chip, then turned around and jumped at the first opportunity to do exactly that?”_

_Gaia raises an eyebrow, not at all impressed with Clarke’s snark. “She wasn’t forced Clarke.”_

_Clarke laughs, sharp and cold. “you’re the second person that’s tried to use that argument with me tonight. It’s as full of crap as the first time. Can you honestly stand there and tell me, she could have chosen to do anything else, under the circumstances? Take the chip or Clarke dies.”_

_Clarke scoffs, and takes savage pleasure in the way Gaia suddenly can’t quite meet her eyes; in the way she looks down and sighs heavily._

_“Yes…well… I will admit that, that wasn’t the choice that I wanted to offer. And if the circumstances were different, I wouldn’t have offered her the chip at all.” Gaia meets her eyes then, strong and resolute once more, “But the fact remains that Octavia suddenly fell ill and entered the deep sleep. The people needed someone to lead them. And Madi was always going to be that someone, sooner or later. And regardless of the unfairness of the choices she had before her, she **did** choose. She chose you. I am sorry about the **way** it happened Clarke, truly. But unlike you, I am not sorry **that** it happened. It was meant to be. She was born for this.”_

‘You were born for this Clarke, same as me.’ _Lexa’s voice echoes faintly in her mind, a fading reminder of times long past that makes Clarke’s breath catch painfully in her chest._

And now Lexa is dead.

_“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”_

_Gaia looks at her again, an evaluating look that seems to be decoding her piece by piece and storing the information away. It revives that uncomfortable feeling of once again being completely exposed. Clarke only just resists the urge to bare her teeth and snarl in response._

_Examination done, Gaia merely clasps her hands behind her back, the picture of calm, controlled confidence._

_It hurts, how familiar that posture is, and Clarke feels the pang of it in her heart._

_She has no idea what Gaia was looking for, or whether or not she found it, but either way, the serenity she portrays sets Clarke’s teeth on edge when everything that has happened this entire night has her feeling anything but._

_“Be that as it may, it is done. Madi is Heda now. And there is nothing you or anyone else can do to change that, short of death.”_

_Clarke flinches._

_She takes an uneven breath, an image of Lexa dying flashing before her eyes, only to be replaced by an image from one of her nightmares, Madi taking her place. And always, that ever- widening pool of blood; always seeming like far more liquid than such slender bodies should be able to contain._

_Clarke exhales, slow and shaky._

_Her heart is pounding in her chest._

_Her hands are trembling, so she curls them into fists._

_“I want to see her.” She keeps her voice as low as she can so that it doesn’t crack the way it wants to._

_Gaia’s impassive expression doesn’t shift. “No one is allowed to see Heda right now.”_

_Something fractures in Clarke then. She feels it give way, feels all the anger of the past few days beginning to seep through; the frustration at being placed in such a position, at having_ **Madi** _placed in such a position and not being able to do anything about it; the fear,_ the thick roiling **fear** _that **never** leaves her anymore; a kind of fiery, agonizing terror she hasn’t felt since their first days on the ground, and the dark moments after; the rage she feels at having to be so afraid after six years of unparalleled peace. _

_Because of **Octavia.**_

_Because of Diyoza._

_Because of Gaia._

_Because of Bellamy…_

_Because of decisions made by a whole bunch of people without a single care for who would be affected by them._

_A few days ago, she could hold her daughter; she could see her whenever she wanted. She could talk to her. Kiss her. Play with her. Tickle her until Madi ran away shrieking. Tell her stories.  And maybe, most importantly, could trust, unequivocally that she was safe._

_And now, not only can she **not** see her, or even **talk** to her, she apparently can’t even be in the same building her daughter is in._

_Clarke knows Gaia can see that anger, reads it in the slight shift of her position, the slight upwards tilt of her chin, squaring off for a fight._

_Clarke stalks forward, heat pouring off of her and glares at Gaia with all the intensity of the storm inside her. But when she speaks, her voice is deadly quiet. “I’m going to see her. If you want to stop me, you’re going to have to kill me, because come hell or high water, I’m going to see her.”_

_Something flickers in Gaia’s eyes. For a crazy second, Clarke thinks it looks an awful lot like respect. Then they cool and harden. “And who are you exactly, to demand to see Heda?”_

_“I’m her_ **Mother _!”_** _Clarke finally explodes._

_There is a loaded, heated pause, and then –_

_“No. You’re not.” Gaia counters, quiet but firm. “Madi doesn’t have a mother anymore.”_

_Gaia might as well have slapped her._

_Clarke is so shocked all she can do is stare._

_The Flamekeeper uses the surprised silence to close the gap between them, using slow, measured steps until there’s just a foot separating her from Clarke._

_She makes it a point to look her in the eyes, still exuding that infuriating calm, not batting an eyelash at the anger that is replacing Clarke’s surprise._

_“To be Commander **is** to be alone, Clarke.Love is weakness.” she says, quietly. _

_The familiar words send chills racing down Clarke’s spine._

_She hears Lexa’s voice in those words, feels herself stiffen immediately._

_“Maybe not for everyone Clarke, maybe not for ordinary people like farmers, or blacksmiths, or bakers. Not for people who don’t have the weight of the whole world as we know it resting on their shoulders. But for Heda, for Madi now, there is no other way.”_

_“That’s not true.” Clarke blurts out._

_“Isn’t it?”_

_“No! That’s just the trash that Titus used to feed her to get Lexa to rule the way he thought she should. Love isn’t weakness!”_

_Gaia nods sagely. Then, quietly, devastatingly, asks:_

_“Did you tell Lexa that before or after you got her killed?”_

_These words are more like a punch to the gut._

_A small, pained gasp tears its way from Clarke’s mouth even as she feels all the blood draining from her face, leaving her pale and light-headed._

_“What did you just say to me?” she whispers, knowing but still unable to believe what she’s just heard._

_Gaia squares her shoulders and lifts her chin up. “I said, did you tell Lexa that, before or after you got her killed.”_

_A moment of incredulous silence and then -_

_“ **Titus** is the one who shot Lexa!” Clarke reminds her in a dangerous whisper, fury mixing with grief, “He’s the one who killed her! The precious Flamekeeper,” contempt drips from her tone, “How dare you try to blame that on me”_

_“Lexa died,” Gaia says, speaking almost before Clarke is done, practically speaking over her, “because you introduced jus drein no jus daun.”_

_Clarke stares at her, eyes wide, disbelieving. “ **We** introduced jus drein no jus daun. Lexa wanted peace just as much as I did.”_

_Gaia acquiesces with a little nod. “Maybe so. But Lexa wanted peace for everyone. You wanted peace for just your people. She was too smart and had been taught too well to push for a change as radical as jus drein no jus daun almost immediately after the slaughter of 300 of her own people in their sleep, volunteers who were sent to protect **your** people!”_

_Clarke’s eyes widen at the sudden fierceness in her tone, the glittering black of Gaia’s eyes as she steps forward. The weight of her words land like stones, heavy and bruising in their delivery._

_Another step and instinctively, Clarke shifts back._

_“Lexa was not a fool. But love makes fools of us all. If she overlooked that travesty, she did it for you.  If she did it for you, she was compromised because of you and it was because **you** compromised her that Titus felt you had to be removed. That bullet was meant for **you**. So make no mistake Clarke, in more than one way, Lexa. Died. **For** **you**.”_

_The words slide cleanly into Clarke’s heart like the sharpest blade, sink in and **twist**. _

_She stumbles back another step, suddenly trying to put space between her and the accusation that nestles in Gaia’s dark eyes. For her?_

_Lexa died for her._

_It’s suddenly all he can think about, all she can hear, echoing in her brain._

_Lexa died for her…_

_There’s a part of herself that has always blamed herself for Lexa’s death. That wondered what would have happened if she’d never gone to her room to say goodbye. Or if she’d run left, instead of right, in front of Lexa’s door. If she had simply stood still and let Titus shoot her, whatever happened next. She’d blamed herself for not working fast enough or knowing enough to save Lexa. For not doing and being enough._

_But always, there was the comforting buffer of being able to rationalize her role in it versus Titus’ role. In being able to tell herself that she was not the one who pulled the trigger._

_Only to realize now, after all this time, that she might as well have. Because she **had** pushed for jus drein jus daun. She **had** been trying to save her people. At any cost. Even at the risk of not giving the 300 murdered the justice they deserved. Because even if Lexa had agreed to only take the lives of those who had actually carried out the murders, there was Bellamy, right in the middle of those killings as Pike’s right-hand man. There was no way he would have survived, in any other scenario._

_So Clarke had begged and pleaded, and argued and fought for her people, and her friend, putting their lives above the lives of even those they hurt. And Lexa had listened. Because whether or not she chose to act on it, Lexa always listened. And she’d taken the risk of not avenging those murders for the promise that Clarke put before her of a future where there was no war between their people, or any other. A new way, Clarke had called it, a better way._

_And she’d been willing to pay any price._

_Pride. Dignity. Revenge – when they released Emerson…_

_She just hadn’t thought that price would be Lexa._

_And suddenly, remembering, Clarke feels abruptly, violently, sick to her stomach. She claps a hand over her mouth, swaying lightly in place, that old grief flooding her, except now, it is mixed almost unbearably with guilt – fresh, corrosive – burning where it eats into the sensitive flesh of her heart._

_Gaia’s expression seems to clear, the anger that had leaked through fading from it. But the intensity remains. Increases if anything as she steps forward, right into Clarke’s space._

_They’ve always been basically the same height and yet now it feels like Gaia towers over her._

_She sounds almost resigned when she finally speaks. “I had hoped it wouldn’t actually come to this you know. Causing you pain Clarke, doesn’t bring me any pleasure. But... it seems this is the only way you will actually listen and hear what I am about to say. Are you listening Clarke?” Her expression hardens almost imperceptibly and Clarke swallows down the bile in her throat._

_She doesn’t answer; she can’t._

_But her stinging eyes are fixed on Gaia, and maybe her silence is enough, because the flame-keeper continues._

_“Whether you like it or not, accept it or not, believe it or not, for Heda, Love **is** weakness. That is the reason we have taken every single night-blood child away from their families, their friends, their loved- ones, and brought them to Polis under Heda’s tutelage and care. Can you imagine what would happen if every ambassador, every enemy, every common person knew who Heda loved? Knew that all they had to do was threaten that particular person to get Heda to bend? To break… Do you remember Costia?”_

_“Lexa didn’t break.” Clarke says numbly, almost as a reflex._

_Gaia’s expression darkens. “That’s because Lexa was special,” a sharp pain lances through Clarke at those familiar words. “And if she didn’t, in the aftermath of Costia’s death, in the weeping and raging that followed, even in the casting aside of all emotion, it’s the closest thing to it a person can get without outright snapping in two Clarke. Love is a liability for Heda. **You** would be a liability.”_

_She pauses, briefly to let those agonizing words sink in and then continues, “And that’s not even touching the fact that at most likely the shadow of Wanheda’s legacy would fall over Heda and people would begin to look to you and not Madi to rule.”_

_“I don’t want – “_

_Gaia cuts her off, “Did you notice the way they spoke to you?” she doesn’t have to elaborate for Clarke to know she meant the dismissed guards._

_Her mouth snaps shut with a click._

_Gaia looks satisfied by her comprehension. “It wouldn’t matter what you want. Every grounder that survived the past six years knows that you weren’t in the bunker with us. They all know that you did the impossible and survived Praimfaya, and for more than half a decade you’ve been walking freely on this Earth. Then you found this place – this bountiful little valley completely untouched by the death wave. There are some that think that you’re blessed Clarke – that the hand of the spirits is upon you. Many would rather die than offend you and there are many more that would actively seek your favor.”_

_Clarke gives a watery scoff;_

_She, Clarke Griffin, blessed?_

_Is that why she’s had the beautiful gift of bringing death wherever she goes?_

_Unperturbed, Gaia smoothly ignores Clarke’s interruption and continues. “There are others who see you as a god.” She narrows her eyes, “Who believe the Commander of death told death not to touch this valley and death obeyed. When you came down into the bunker you saw only a glimpse of the horror they’ve been through these past six years. There is **nothing** these people wouldn’t do to Command the Commander of death; To have her move death on their behalf. Then there’s the inevitable comparison,” Gaia steps even closer and Clarke is too drained to do much more than look at her. She’s even further in Clarke’s space now, then in her face, and Clarke has the disconcerting experience of seeing the black of Gaia’s eyes take over virtually the whole world. _

_Then they’re gone as Gaia begins to circle her, slow, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike._

_“They’ll look at you, older, bigger, more mature and remember the mountain. The one who destroyed their greatest enemy, that no Heda before you has been able to defeat, not even Lexa. They’ll look at the way you care for others and your knowledge of medicine and conclude that the power to command death automatically includes the power to give life. They’ll look at you, with your eyes the color of the sky and hair that shines like the sun, the woman who fell from the sky; they’ll remember your legacy, and they won’t be able to help but marvel._

_She stops, suddenly, right in front of Clarke and Clarke’s heart jumps. “Then they’ll look at Madi. A twelve-year-old child. Untried. Untested, both in life and battle. A stranger, unknown to them even before Praimfaya. Attempting to rule directly after Bloodreina, the most ruthless leader they’ve ever known. Madi has the flame – yes. But the knowledge of the past commanders can only go so far, and many forget the old ways. Octavia’s control over them was so complete, it’s almost like bloodreina’s all they’ve ever known. Then there’s the fact that not even Heda is immune to death. Those who do remember Lexa will also remember that.” Again, another dig into the freshly opened wound and Clarke closes her eyes slowly. Holds against the pain. Breathes in and out. When she opens them, she feels disconnected and numb in a way that would be scary if it wasn’t such a relief from everything else that she’s been feeling tonight._

_Gaia’s right in front of her, her dark eyes once again all she can see, a slight questioning tilt to her head._

_“Who would you pick, if you had the choice?”_

_Clarke opens her mouth almost immediately and then closes it._

_A people formed, fashioned and in many ways scarred by Bloodreina, given a choice between Heda and Wanheda, between the Commander and the Commander of death._

_The balance has shifted somehow, and an almost unbearable sadness does manage to filter through the general numbness she’s feeling. It’s heartbreaking to realize that six years ago, even with all the power and influence of Wanheda, the answer would **still** have been Heda. Because that would have meant Lexa. And those that didn’t outright love her, definitely respected her. And those who couldn’t manage even that had at least a healthy fear of her._

_Now, she doesn’t even have to think about it to answer._

_She’d pick what any sane person would in the uncertainty of the times and after the terror of Bloodreina._

_She’d pick the Commander of Death._

_… And Gaia knows it._

_Which might be why she’s almost painfully gentle now as she continues. “It wouldn’t matter whether you wanted it or not Clarke. That’s the way the people would choose and that’s how the power would shift. Whatever our differences may be, I will say this for you: you were born to lead Clarke, same as Lexa. And like it was six years ago, when Heda’s enemies wanted to overthrow her with the power of Wanheda, your strength is also one of Heda’s greatest weaknesses.”_

_She appears to be done, watching the information sink in. Clarke doesn’t have anything left, to fight, to argue. But from the very dregs of her, she manages a last, quiet, desperate -_

_“I could use that though, couldn’t I? I could use it to protect her.”_

_For a long time Gaia only looks at her. Clarke is not sure what she sees but the plea she feels in her heart must be reflected somewhere on her face._

_Finally, she nods slowly, acquiescing the point, “Yes you could.” and Clarke’s heart leaps in sudden hope. Only to be squashed when Gaia continues. “For about us long as it would take to undermine Heda’s authority completely. How long do you think it would be before they assumed you were the source of Heda’s power and her enemies began to target you Clarke?” Its more gentleness than she’s spoken to Clarke with in maybe ever, and somehow that compassion is even worse. That small kindness brings a rush of tears to her eyes, which Clarke furiously tries to blink away._

_“Do you see now?” Gaia asks, and there’s still this infuriating softness to her tone that’s somehow more painful than anything else that’s happened tonight. The finality it represents. The end it anticipates. “This is the only way either of you survive. But it can’t be together this time.”_

_Gaia’s words ring of truth. There is no trickery here, no outright attempt at deception. Yes, Clarke knows that Gaia is painting only the picture she wants her to see. But right now that picture seems like the only one that **is**. _

_Clarke sees it clearly. And what she sees damn near breaks her heart._

_She looks at Gaia and sees compassion there, lurking in the dark brown of her eyes. She also sees steel; the kind that comes from an unwavering conviction that a person is doing the right thing; she will not bend on this. She certainly will not bend for Clarke. But then again, should Clarke even want her to, if it’s Madi’s life on the line?_

_Taking a deep breath, Clarke draws the last tattered remains of her strength back around herself._

_“Can I at least say goodbye.” She entreats, relieved that at least her voice manages to stay relatively stable._

_“…I’d rather you didn’t.” Gaia tells her, honest. “It will only make things much harder in the long run.”_

_“They’re already hard right now.” Clarke counters, a bitter little twist to her mouth._

_Gaia’s expression grows cool. “For you, Clarke. Yes, I’d imagine so. But the world doesn’t revolve around you, a fact you often seem to forget.”_

_Clarke doesn’t give her the satisfaction of wincing, but the accusation stings, sinks seep down to the depths of her and adds to the growing pile of condemnations she’ll heap on herself when this is all done._

_“You also seem to have mistaken my politeness as giving you a choice. There are guards hidden in the trees with arrows that have been pointed at you the moment you approached. You have no choice. No options. This is not a negotiation.”_

_Clarke’s attention snaps towards the trees, scanning their dark depths. Despite the light from the torches she can’t make out anything but now that Gaia’s mentioned it, she can swear she feels their eyes, can imagine their quiet breaths, arrows drawn, aiming at her. How many, three, four, five?_

_A chill snake its way down Clarke’s spine._

_When she looks at Gaia, the Flamekeeper raises an eyebrow, as if asking ‘Do you truly understand now?’_

_Clarke grits her teeth, that old anger and frustration flaring for one hot, bright moment. It’s one thing to be physically kept from Madi, to have the mistakes she’s made flung back in her face, to have her character questioned, to have Lexa used against her… But to be threatened this blatantly, and not be able to do anything about it…Clarke **hates** this moment, hates the orchestrator of this moment, even if she has already accepted the logic of her arguments._

_They stand, locked in a silent battle of wills where Clarke is tempted to risk it, risk everything if it means she gets one more moment with Madi and Gaia is daring her to._

_When Gaia suddenly stands aside, Clarke tries not to explode from the shock of it._

_Gaia gives her a steady look. “I would rather you didn’t. I think it would make this harder not easier for the both of you and I’m not entirely sure it’ll be good for Madi in the long run but since there’s no other way it appears you’ll be satisfied, Here. Have your final goodbye.”_

_Clarke looks from her, to the wide-open space behind her, to the guards in front of the door, to the hidden shadows in the trees._

_When Gaia gives no other word or sign, Clarke takes a hesitant step forward._

_And then another._

_And another._

_Trembling now, with relief, with apprehension, with joy as she nears the door._

_When she gets to the stairs, the guards part seamlessly in front of her, moving to take their places lower down._

_She walks up to the door on shaky legs._

_Just behind it is Madi._

_Its been one night, just one night, but Clarke somehow feels like she’s fought through three wars just to have this moment. First the war to win the valley back. Then her confrontation with Bellamy. Then with Gaia._

_She’s tired. So, so, tired of all the forces that have been conspiring lately to ruin the single greatest thing she’s had in her life for the past six years._

_Finally, all she has to do is go in._

_The metal of the door handle is cool and smooth under her palm._

_Inviting._

_Then she hears Gaia’s voice. And her yearning fingers pause._

_“Before you go in, let me ask you just one thing Clarke.”_

_Clarke doesn’t give her an answer either way but she’s waiting, body partly turned towards Gaia to hear what she has to say and maybe that’s enough._

_“if you enter this door and Madi refuses to let you go and somewhere down the line, two, or three, or maybe ten years from now, your presence in her life is the reason she’s dead …will you ever be able to forgive yourself? Have you forgiven yourself for Lexa?”_

_It feels like ice water has been poured over her. She gasps, at the pain and shock of it. Then stands, trembling, her hand now shaking on the handle._

_Waves of despair crashing over her, Clarke lowers her head until her forehead rests against the cool wood of the door. She spreads her palm flat against it and can swear she almost feels Madi’s presence, her warmth, her heartbeat just on the other side. She stays there for a long time wishing she could pour everything she felt into this door, every ounce of protectiveness and longing and love._

_She’s so close._

_So, so close. To what this was all for. One of the people she loves the most, who still loves her._

_Who she would give everything to, do anything for._

_She squeezes her eyes shut against the sudden brimming of tears, shakes her head against the sudden onslaught of emotion, but on the next exhale she knows it’s futile._

_Gaia’s won._

_Because the answer can only ever be: No, she won’t forgive herself if she’s the reason Madi get’s hurt. Or dies._

_(No, she hasn’t forgiven herself for Lexa’s death.)_

_And Gaia knows it._

_When Clarke pushes off of the door, she feels as if she’s aged a hundred years._

_The weight of this recent loss presses down on her; it takes enormous effort to drag each foot up and place it on top of the other, as if her shoes are lined with lead weights._

_It takes everything she has to walk down the stairs and then a little bit more than that to do it without letting her tears fall._

_Shame mixes with the sickening cocktail of grief inside her and she can’t quite meet Gaia’s eyes as she nears. It feels like an overwhelming failure to walk away like this; like an all-round defeat. And yet her hands are tied. Because staying in Madi’s life is a gamble, and Clarke’s just not ready to bet with her life._

_And Gaia **knows** it._

_She stops though, a few steps past Gaia, her back to her. she doesn’t turn to check what expression is on the Flamekeeper’s face; whether it is satisfaction, or amusement or smug victory._

_She can’t._

_But she does have something to say._

_She couldn’t be Madi’s mother if she didn’t._

_“You say I’m part of the reason Lexa died…and maybe…maybe that’s true. But don’t forget that the person who actually pulled the trigger was still Titus, a Flamekeeper who was trying to manipulate Heda into ruling the way **he** thought she should. Who thought he knew better than her. You can play around with your mind games all you want but putting blame on me doesn’t remove what’s on him. So, you might want to remember that, the next time you try to make decisions for Heda, behind her back. Because if anything happens to her under your watch, I’m coming for you.” The cold, numb heaviness of Clarke’s emotions doesn’t stop her from injecting real malice into her words. _

_She turns, just enough for Gaia to be able to read that intent in her eyes, just enough to catch the glimpse of surprise on Gaia’s face._

_Then Clarke walks away_

_And tries to pretend for all the steps it takes her to get out of view,_

_that her heart hasn’t shattered into a million pieces inside her chest._

_***_

There’s nothing but silence for a long time after Clarke is done.

Faintly, the rustle of leaves can be heard as the wind blows through the trees; the nighttime chorus of crickets, blending in with the sounds of other nocturnal animals. Dimly, the sound of running water. Quiet, the slosh of liquid in that silver flask as Clarke lifts it to her mouth and through it all Bellamy Blake stares at Clarke Griffin without making a single sound.

It all makes sense now: Her weeklong absence from the main camp – trying to avoid the areas where she might, more than likely stumble across Madi as she organized the survivors. The drinking. The weight loss and the deadness of her eyes – layers of anguish, guilt and grief and beneath it all, that boiling rage, bubbling and frothing with nowhere to go.

He looks at her – his best friend once upon a time – head tipped back against the tree, fingers around her flask, eyes closed – escaped tears creating a silver stream that glitters in the moonlight– and feels his hands curl into such tight fists he can feel the knuckles of his hand trying to break through his own skin.

“She can’t do that.”

 It’s interesting how quiet his voice comes out, all his furious indignation seething within.

Clarke releases an amused little snort and opens her eyes then, wiping her eyes with her shoulders and taking another swig from her flask. “Yes, well… apparently she can.”

Bellamy wants to swear. Wants to drag his hands through his hair, and pace, and maybe find Gaia and shake her really, really thoroughly and ask what the hell she thought she was doing, because this: physically keeping Clarke from Madi, not so veiled threats on her life if she doesn’t comply, putting Lexa’s death on her and playing into Clarke’s fears about those she loves most getting hurt because of her… that was just low. It was never part of what giving Madi the chip was supposed to mean.

It was supposed to be simple. Chip Madi, so that she could win the grounders over from his blood crazy sister, then get her safely through the war; show Clarke that there was absolutely nothing to fear beyond her own aversion to the chip.

That’s not the way things are turning out.

In fact, Bellamy feels like he's watching this whole chip situation, quite literally, spiral out of control.

Clarke picks that moment to look at him, rolling her head on the tree in his direction. The smile she gives him is lazy, amused in a way that feels like it's mocking him.  _Poor, naive fool,_ it says _, that you actually thought things would go the way you planned._

And okay…

Now Bellamy kind of wants to shake Clarke too. Gently of course, but enough to get rid of this new mask, this placid calm that doesn’t go with the wet sadness of her eyes, the turmoil he knows is lurking under that – the turmoil that is writing its story on her body.

Or her trembling hand as she lifts the flask to her mouth.

He can’t believe that all week she’s been going through all this alone and all they were thinking about was why she hadn't been paying more attention to them. They’d assumed she was avoiding them and made her absence all about them.

(They seem to make a lot of thing concerning Clarke all about them.)

The guilt that settles heavy in the pit of his stomach seems to bring all his other emotions down with it.

Bellamy takes a deep breath in, exhales it, unclenches his fists and focuses on what's most important here: Clarke.

"No, she can't" he says, firmly. " I get that it seems like she can when she's threatened to put arrows in you if you don't comply but it's bullshit, Madi would never -"

"know?" Clarke interjects idly.

He was about to say 'allow that' actually but there's a certain glint in Clarke's eyes that tells him that she knew exactly what he was going to say.

Bellamy sighs. "Yeah, well now I know. And I would tell her. And you could confirm what Gaia tried to pull behind your back."

He doesn’t know what to make of the way she’s looking at him now. Long seconds pass and it might be wishful thinking, but Bellamy thinks he can define that look as…fond?

“You would, would you?” There’s amusement there too and Bellamy can feel everything inside him softening.

“Yeah, of course I would Clarke.” He knows she can hear just how serious he is. “Just because I messed up, and you don’t trust me in your life anymore, doesn’t mean I won’t always have your back… That’s what you do for family.”

He’s expecting the way her eyes widen the way she towards him, makes himself sit and meet her gaze as steadily and as surely as he can.

“What, now I’m family?”

The incredulity in her voice is painful to hear.

“you’ve _always_ been family Clarke and… I’m sorry if anything I’ve said or done has caused you to believe anything less, even for a second.”

He means it, and he knows she can see it from the way her shoulders lose some of their tension, the way her eyes take on that tell-tale softness.

He wants to say more. To tell her that it’s what you do for the people you love. But it still doesn’t feel like the right moment. Still doesn’t feel like he’s given her enough reason to believe that after so many years have passed. Like Love is something he can claim with honor.

“So… what’s the plan?” he diverts from the feelings that are filling his chest.

At his question Clarke’s eyes dim and she looks away.

“There is no plan. I’m done.”

It comes out as an agonized whisper.

Bellamy’s so touched by it.

“…Clarke, she won’t hurt you.”

It’s…It’s inconceivable to him. That Clarke Griffin, the same Clarke Griffin that was willing to rip him a new one because he had done something that was potentially harmful to her daughter against her express wishes was going to let a virtual stranger to their relationship, an outsider…tear that relationship apart.

 “No…It’s not that it’s…People die when I’m in charge, remember?”

Hearing his own words, from what feels like an age ago is an absolute shock. Burning regret quickly follows.

“Right, well, I was angry when I said that – “

“No,” Clarke cuts across him quietly. She closes her eyes, and to anyone else it might look like she was just tired, but Bellamy can see old stress lines come to life on her brow. Sees the pain in her expression.  “No, you were right. So many people have died because of me Bellamy, directly and indirectly. Sometimes whether I wanted them to or not. It’s like death follows me wherever I go. And everyone I love…” she’s struggling to get the words out, “Everyone I love dies. Gaia knew exactly what she was doing when she brought up Lexa.” Her voice oh–so–rough over that name, a dry humorless laugh, “The _bitch_ played me. She knew that I would never take the risk of being in Madi’s life if I was the thing that would put her in danger.”

“Well… if you know she’s manipulating you then why - ”

“Because she’s right” she opens her eyes then, only to stare sightlessly in front of her. “She may have been trying to achieve a particular result but she still _believed_ everything she was saying. And she’s…right. Look at what happened to Finn, Wells, Maya, My Dad… Lexa… god, look what happened to Lexa – ” There are definite tears in her voice and now Bellamy _really_ wishes he had Gaia right here so he could shake the crap out of her for putting this on Clarke too.

Like she didn’t already carry all the grounders they killed at the bridge when they blew it up, including the small warrior Anya had captured them to heal; the child that had died despite Clarke doing everything she could to save her.

Like the 300 grounders that died at the dropship weren’t enough.

Like the hundreds more that died inside the mountain, men women and children, some of whom had helped, sheltered and protected them from their own people - didn’t already haunt her.

“Hey,” he says, voice firm but gentle, trying to ground her, to reassure “that wasn’t your fault.”

He wasn’t there when it happened. But he’s heard the stories and they’re enough to make a person’s blood run cold.

Clarke let’s out a dark chuckle, the heels of her hands coming up to press into her eyes. “No…maybe not. But if I wasn’t there Bellamy, if I had just come back as soon as the blockade had gone up, if I hadn’t tried to cling to her for that final goodbye… she would still be alive.”

…

(if he hadn’t helped kill those 300 people in their sleep. If he hadn’t helped Pike fan the hatred between the two groups.)

His guilt swells till he feels physically sick. Actually nauseous with it.

Her fingers are clutching, nails pressing sharply into the skin of her forehead and Bellamy suddenly, painfully, wonders just how many times she’s had that thought this past week. How many times she’s picked it up, and turned it over, and tortured herself with the idea. How many times she’s already cried about it, with no one there to tell her it’ll be okay.

That it wasn’t her fault.

It’s kind of his first instinct to comfort Clarke. He hadn’t even realized in how many small ways he got the chance to offer something as simple as that: a squeeze to her shoulder, a brush of her hand, a caress across her forehead, her cheek, tucking her hair behind one ear, a hug, and always the way Clarke would burrow into him and hold him tight.

Bellamy has to curl his fingers into his pants and grip to stop from reaching out to her.

He softens his voice to compensate for the way he can’t touch. “You can’t live the rest of your life like that Clarke; In regret, asking what if. Or in fear, that someone else you love will get hurt. Or blaming yourself for simply existing. It’s not on you Clarke.”

She’s already shaking her head and Bellamy clenches his hands harder when she takes her hands away and he can see the way her eyes are smeared with tears and rimmed red.

“No what I can’t do is risk Madi’s life.  Or her getting hurt because of me. If staying away from her means she’ll be safe, then…that’s what I’ll do…. It’s better this way anyway; everything I come close to I seem to destroy. All the more reason for you to stay away from me.”  She gives a mock salute with her flask and tips its contents into her mouth.

Watching her, he can feel her sadness. Her weariness and exhaustion.

A fierce wave of protectiveness washes over him.

“yeah, well, it’s a good thing I’m not scared of you.”

Clarke scoffs lightly and he gives her a small smile, a reassurance.             

It slips off his face soon enough though.

“…I know that I’ve said this before but…I’m… I’m really sorry Clarke, truly, for everything.”

He can both hear and feel within himself how this time is different from all the other times he’s said it, different from the night they argued even.

It's not about assuaging his guilt.

It's not an I'm sorry, but I still think it was right.

Or an I'm sorry but if you were being reasonable you would see there was no other option.

It's just… I'm sorry.

He apologized for a number of things last week: Leaving her behind when it should have been his turn to lay down his life for the group, even if she asked him to.

Acting like somehow his attachment to their friends was more important than hers.

Going against her express wishes concerning offering Madi the chip and violating her trust.

But this is different.

This is, I'm sorry for the trouble I helped cause. This is, I'm sorry for the hurt I've caused you.

He keeps eye contact even though it’s hard. Even though this is him, stripped-bare and vulnerable as well and at any moment she could throw his apology in his face.

"I'm so sorry Clarke" he repeats for good measure, his voice just a soft murmur, "I never meant to hurt you."

And there are so many layers to that statement aren't there? So many possible instances to which they could apply. Even more now than last week when he said it.

Because now it could apply to the slaughter of the grounders – the event that caused their relationship with the grounders to plummet even further. That contributed to the necessity of _jus drein no jus daun_. That caused the unrest that contributed to Lexa’s death.

(It’s not enough. It will never be enough. He can never undo the horror of what he did but… at least he can give this, for whatever it’s worth.)

There’s a new wetness to Clarke’s eyes as she considers him. When she turns away without saying Bellamy tries not to let his heart sink.

(He fails but…

He’s the only one who has to know that.)

His cheeks are uncomfortably warm and seem to be growing warmer the longer he sits there with her having apparently rejected his apology.  But fuck it if Bellamy has ever been anything but stubbornly determined when it comes to the people he cares about.

He's prepared to sit here all night with her in silence if that's what she wants.

But just as the discomfort of awkwardness is about to reach excruciating proportions, a silver flask is suddenly pushed in his direction.

"I know" is all Clarke murmurs.

But it's enough. It's everything.

It's amazing how that little reassurance spreads through him like wildfire, burning away all the uncertainty of before; How easily such a simple acknowledgement from Clarke can make everything seem almost alright again.

He's so busy staring at her he doesn't immediately take the flask until Clarke shakes it in reminder.

She looks at him then, really looks at him, like she's seeing _him_ and not just the guy who chipped her daughter behind her back.

"I know Bell" she repeats, soft, steady, sure, like _she’s_ trying to reassure _him_ and his heart does this violent clenching thing in his chest and _squeezes_.

It doesn't change the fact that he did hurt her. And that he has. And that the entire reason she ended their friendship was the risk that he would again. Or worse, hurt her daughter.

But Clarke acknowledging once more that it wasn't out of malice, that she knew that he would never intentionally set out to hurt her, even after everything, even after all the time that had past  –

It reminds him of those days when everyone around him had seen a cocky, self-centered, rebel, from a family that meant nothing and she'd seen a leader, a person of charisma, who people would follow. Who they trusted and who was worth trusting. Who she could look at as an equal and lean on as a partner.

Clarke Griffin is seeing him for the first time in what feels like an eternity and Bellamy doesn't know how he's lived without this for so long.

He takes the flask, tips its contents into his mouth without hesitation; trusting.

The liquid that hits his tongue is sweet – unexpectedly so – with an almost nutty aftertaste that has Bellamy making a soft sound of surprised pleasure, unconsciously licking his lips. It’s nice. More than nice; this might be most delicious thing he’s ever tasted on the ground. And unlike moonshine, it doesn’t threaten to liquify his insides and set them on fire.

Clarke is giving him a look that manages to be both smug and amused and Bellamy let’s out a surprised chuckle.

“Geez, is this what you’ve been drinking the whole night? That’s amazing. Did you make it yourself?”

Clarke nods, a wistful smile on her face. “Madi and I found a whole variety of grains that grow in the valley maybe two years after I arrived. I’d person ally tried to make alcohol out of some other things like vegetables, but it didn’t work out so well.”

She makes a ‘yuck’ face, and Bellamy finds himself laughing again. Clarke’s smile in response is blinding; small, barely more than the upturn of her mouth but _genuine_ , her eyes warmer than they’ve been in almost two weeks.

It wells up in him again, how much he’s missed her, missed this, just being able to exist with her like this and he has to swallow down the words that are suddenly trying to form a lump in his throat with another sip.

He nearly sighs, relishing the pleasant warmth that slips down his throat to warm his chest and stomach. This really is kind of amazing.

Wordlessly he offers it back to Clarke, gratified beyond words when she doesn’t hesitate to take it.

Her fingers brush against his and Bellamy ignores the tingling in his fingertips. The weird sort of jolt his heart gives.

(He tells himself It’s just because he wasn’t expecting to be able to enjoy little intimacies like that for a long while; he knows how long Clarke can hold a grudge.)

She takes a sip, passes it back.

He drinks, passes it to her.

They go like this for a long time.

***

It’s quiet in the forest, this far from the bonfire and even the normal sounds of insects scurrying, of water somewhere in the distance and the rustle of leaves doesn’t intrude on the bubble of quiet they’re in.

It’s been such a long time since Bellamy has felt this kind of deep, all-pervading peace.

Clarke becomes more relaxed as the seconds tick by, leaning more fully against the tree.

In the moonlight that’s filtering through he can see the warm flush that’s taken up permanent residence in her cheeks.

Looks like the alcohol was finally starting to make its mark.

“So, you’ve been drinking this all night?”

Clarke snorts inelegantly and Bellamy tries not to grin too widely at the sound.

What’s happening between them feels new and tentative in a way he doesn’t want to spoil.

It’s not that everything has magically become better, or that suddenly everything is forgotten but it’s a milestone all the same in their relationship; a break from the normal timeline, a pause from all the drama.

The promise of better things to come.

And maybe it helps that they are both just a teeny, tiny, _little_ bit drunk.

(Just a _little_ little bit, hehe.)

“No, I wish. I went in for Monty’s moonshine. It felt as if someone poured rocket fuel down my throat and lit it on fire.”

He laughs out loud at that and Clarke shakes her head fondly.

He doesn’t understand though, “why drink it if it was that bad?”

She shrugs, non-committal and doesn’t look at him when she says, “I guess I missed him. I’ve missed you all. What’s a little crappy beer in the face of that.”

Bellamy sobers up, his smile slipping away. There’s warmth in his chest, but also that ever present burn he’s coming to associate with guilt and regret.

They’ve all been kind of mad at her for various reasons that seem, if not wrong, then misplaced, all things being considered.

“Jasper would have loved this place.” Clarke adds quietly, and the silence that falls then is somber but not bad. She gives a little mid- air toast to him and they drink quietly, “to Jasper”.

“To Jasper”

***

“So…you want to tell me how the hell you’re still so okay after drinking what…six cups of moonshine?”

The world around him has softened considerably, taking on the surreal beauty of a watercolor painting.

Clarke’s arm is touching his where she’s leaning ever so slightly against him. The length of her leg too.

It makes his heart do weird acrobatic stunts in his chest when he thinks about it too hard so Bellamy is trying to be casual about it. Focus on something else.

Like, for example, why the hell she hasn’t even started slurring her S’s softly the way he is.

Clarke gives him a little smirk. “Nightblood.” Is all she murmurs, but Bellamy feels as if a huge lightbulb has come on above his head.

“ _Ohhh_ , _nightblood_.” He stretches the words out, wonder in his voice.

He’s not entirely sure why this should make Clarke’s body shake with silent chuckles but anything that makes her happy makes him happy so –

Bellamy smiles.

***

“…You know I do care about you right?”

The flask is almost empty and with everything pleasantly fuzzy around the edges, Bellamy finally has the courage to deal with this thing that’s been eating at him for the past week.

Clarke hesitates mid- drink. Her eyes dart to him, then away and he knows what that means. Hears the ‘do I?’ from a week ago as loud and clear as if she had asked it herself.

“Hey,” Sitting up is kind of a struggle, his body wonderfully loose and heavy, but he does it, dares to lay a hand on her elbow so that she looks at him, squeezes gently when she doesn’t pull away.

“I care about you. I may have done a crap job of showing it sometimes, but I _do_ care about you Clarke. I have always cared about you. I will always care about you. No matter what happens from now on, no matter what you decide, I want you to know. I want you to remember. Okay?”

She hesitates again, eyes big, and dark and so blue; vulnerable as they glance between his.

“…Okay.” She whispers.

And the happy relief that washes over him is so strong he feels like he could float right off the ground with it.

“Okay.”

***

“Did you cut your hair?” she points with her chin, looking curious. Interested.

It makes Bellamy feel even warmer than the generous amount of alcohol coursing through his system.

Absently, he runs his fingers through slightly shorter strands, artfully trimmed.

“Yeah. Actually, Raven cut it for me.”

Off Clarke’s raised eyebrow he can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, no, it’s exactly as terrifying as you would think. Jesus Clarke, you should have seen the first time she tried it up on the ark. Holding this big ass knife and having the audacity to look offended that everyone wasn’t rushing to line up. We all ended up looking like deranged rodents, tufts of hair, bald spots and pink skin everywhere.”

It actually pulls a laugh from Clarke. Like a real life laugh even though it’s quiet, muted.

Bellamy drinks it in, kind of more intoxicated by it than anything else this night.

“That definitely sounds like her, anyway.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes playfully, lifts the flask. “To better haircuts.”

“To Raven,” Clarke is smiling with her eyes.

“To Raven.”

***

“So, what now” he asks eventually, once the flask is empty.

The world around them has taken on an unusual brilliance, going even softer at all its edges.

Bellamy feels floaty, warm and content in a way he would never have guessed at the beginning of this day. In a way that rivals even how he felt at the bonfire, in the midst of vigorous merry making, even though it’s just him and Clarke in a silent forest.

He knows instinctively, that his time with Clarke is coming to an end. That at some point later tonight, or tomorrow, he’ll meet a Clarke Griffin that even if she isn’t as angry at him per say, will still be hurt and grieving and will be so much more guarded because of it.

Tonight, is a rare chink in her armor, a crack in the wall.

And all good things must come to an end.

But for tonight…

“I’m going back to my tent.”

Bellamy stiffens before he can help it.

“To troy.”

Clarke sighs, eyes closing again. “Yes, Bell, to Troy.”

He nods, hands curling into fists in his lap. Right. of course. He interrupted something earlier after all. And Clarke is a grown woman. She knows what she’s doing. And she has…needs.

It doesn’t exactly help his sudden urge to hit something but, it’s logic that he clings tenaciously to.

(She’s his best friend, that’s all. That’s why he’s feeling so protective.)

“Right, well…have fun.” The words stick so unpleasantly in his throat he’s barely able to get them out.

Clarke arches an eyebrow at him, a challenging glint in her eyes.

Bellamy doesn’t rise to the provocation. “I mean it. Just… you now, be safe.”

Clarke’s gaze flickers between his eyes for a moment. “I’ll certainly do my best.”

He nods again. That’s about all that he has the right to ask for.

… Just one more thing though, “Can I ask, why him?”

Clarke let’s out a soft huff that’s too short to be a laugh, “Well, he offered so there’s that.” It’s said lazily, carelessly, and something about the tone makes his hands clench tighter into fists.

“Yeah but…I mean if you want to that’s fine and everything but…you don’t need him. I…I mean if you needed someone to be there for you I…” He falters as Clarke’s eyes land on him, unreadable.

“you’ll what Bellamy.” She prompts, voice just a soft murmur.

“I’d…I’d…” he obviously can’t do what Troy is apparently just willing and ready to do but he could… he could hold her. He could comfort her.

Except this whole thing is at least partly his fault. Except that it’s probably the last thing Clarke would want.

Something seems to shift in her eyes when he doesn’t answer but she doesn’t push. With a small sigh, Clarke leans back against the tree and closes her eyes.

Another time, another woman, another version of himself and he would have given her what she wanted without hesitation. Offered himself up like a sacrifice to her desires and told Clarke to take and take and take until she was satisfied. It wouldn’t even have been like it was with Raven, Bellamy a cocky asshole of a teenager more than willing to take advantage of what a hot girl was offering, regardless of whether it was good for her or not. Bellamy would have given Clarke everything, poured all of himself, his heart into that moment if that was what she needed.

But the past few years have taught him some wisdom at least. Enough to know that he _shouldn’t_ have taken advantage of Raven like that despite the fact that she’d come to him.

That he _wouldn’t_ with Clarke, even if he wasn’t with Echo; sex did not the answer to emotional problems make. She was hurting. She needed comfort.

He doesn’t know how to say all his without making things weird and the last thing he wants is to offend her, but he wouldn’t be a friend if he didn’t try.

“It won’t make you feel better Clarke.”

He’s been there, he’s done that - with Raven, with others - he knows.

Clarke smiles a smile that has no humor in it.

“With a little luck, for at least a few minutes, I won’t have to worry about feeling anything at all.”

He struggles, wanting to accept her decision but not being able to.

“But – ”

“Are you offering Bellamy?” She cuts across him.

He kind of chokes on his own spit. “What?”

She opens her eyes and turns to look at him. Logically, he knows that he was aware of how close they’d been sitting before. But he’s even more excruciatingly aware of it now, when Clarke opens her eyes and seems to lean in, her gaze challenging.

“Are you offering?”

Her eyes are that rich dark blue that reminds him of the sky just after sunset but before true night. Her lips are pink, her cheeks flushed. Her gaze dips, deliberate, bold, down to his lips and then slowly, oh so slowly, back up again.

His stomach flips, then tightens, his fingers tingling where they clutch at handfuls of grass.

“You know I’m not.” he whispers. “…I can’t.”

“Then leave it alone.” Her gaze flashes in warning before she leans away from him. “you have your grief coping mechanisms and I have mine.”

Of course, the last time he was grieving he helped kill three hundred people in their sleep so…yeah…maybe he’s not one to talk.

He thinks he’s ruined the mood though because even as they settle back and try to get comfortable again, he can feel a frosty irritation radiating from Clarke. Even as it slowly, slowly dissipates, it leaves a guarded woman in her place.

Just like that, he knows time’s up. Clarke’s done. It’s about as far of a step forward as their relationship is going to take today.

In the stillness of the night, stars glittering like so many diamonds above them, he takes in deep breaths of the cool night air, wanting to make the most of these last few moments of peace.

Clarke makes to get up, and Bellamy has to resist the urge to gently tug her back down.

“one more thing.” he says instead. And Clarke pauses where she stands, body tense for a second, before she slowly turns towards him. Waiting.

This is a big one and Bellamy swallows against his dry mouth, suddenly unsure about what he’s about to ask but knowing he has to know all the same.

 “Are you ever going to tell me what you meant by I abandoned you for Echo?”

He catches the brief widening of her eyes before she turns away, her back to him.

The whole world seems to be holding its breath, waiting on Clarke’s answer.

Or maybe that’s just him…

An eternity seems to pass between her quiet breaths.

“…No, I’m not.”

He sighs, but he realizes he’s not surprised as leans back against the tree. Still.

“It felt like it was important?” he murmurs to Clarke’s back.

Another undefinable piece of eternity goes by.

“…Not anymore.” She eventually says. Her voice is soft, and he wants to ask her what that means…

Except he thinks he kind of already knows –

That even if she had indirectly confessed that she liked him, it doesn’t matter now. Not after Madi, and Echo and all the ways they are different now.

And that’s fine right? It’s whatever, because he hasn’t ever even thought of Clarke like that. Not for a while. Not since before he killed three hundred people in their sleep who were coming to help him so…

Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe they’re both a bit too fucked up to try for something anyways. It’d be too complicated now. Too painful. Too hard.

They’re…whatever they are now. And Clarke is Clarke. And He’s Bellamy. And Echo’s Echo so everything is…fine.

Yeah.

If he never once let’s himself go near what he feels for Clarke, as a friend but also somehow so much more than that, what he could feel for Clarke, if he let himself. If he’d had the time.

well…maybe that’s for the best too.

It’s what he tells himself at least. And right here, right now, in this moment…

Bellamy lets himself believe it.

“Alright.”

Clarke takes a step from him then, stretches with all the appearance of ease that he knows she isn’t really feeling.

Bellamy stands too, bends backwards and forwards, until his back cracks.

When Clarke glances at him, her eyes are cloudy with something he doesn’t know how to name. It looks almost like nostalgia.

(Like Longing.)

(Like Regret.)

And between them, the moment stretches, another ending with no name.

Bellamy holds on for as long as he can, but when Clarke turns, he feels the link between them break with a snap; whatever connection had made this night possible in the first place – whatever aligning of moon and stars, of the whole vast cosmos - disintegrating as quietly and un-obtrusively as it came.

He watches Clarke screw on the cap of the empty flask. Tuck it into the inner lining of her jacket. Fix her clothes with small purposeful tugs. And with each definite gesture he imagines he sees her putting on a new piece of her armor until at last, she stands, back to him, unknown and unknowable once more.

There is no more need for words. No more use for them. They won’t change anything now.

When she begins to walk. Bellamy follows.

(Having her back at least, is one thing that will never change. No matter how many mistakes he makes.)

They walk for what feels like forever.

Clarke with an ease that’s different from her norm, drifting effortlessly over fallen branches and tangled roots. Rather than making her uncoordinated, the alcohol seems to have loosened all her limbs, relaxing her, despite his presence at her back, in a way he wouldn’t have believed if he couldn’t see it for himself. Even when she stumbles, she does so gracefully, with the air of one not particularly concerned to be stumbling.

His own mind has returned to the pleasantly fuzzy state it was in before he came to find Clarke, if a bit more floaty and disconnected. His limbs feel heavy though, weighted down in a way that makes the contrast between how he feels and the way Clarke looks all the more striking.

The sound of their footsteps is muffled by the undergrowth on the forest floor.

Moonlight paints the trees in shades of silver and black and everything feels like a dream.

He doesn’t even realize that they’re close to the celebration again until Clarke suddenly stops.

Bellamy, in tune with her even with his mind drifting away from him, stops instinctively as well.

That’s when the sounds of the celebration begin filtering in, the faint crackle and snap of the fire. 

They stand, literally at a crossroads, with one path branching off into warmth and revelry and another plunging ahead into the dark woods, where Clarke’s tent probably stood. Somewhere.

Alone.

They’re waiting. Hovering by some sort of unspoken agreement. Maybe because this is a moment that _does_ feel like it requires words.

Bellamy is still trying to find his when Clarke murmurs, “Thanks for staying Bellamy.”

Off his surprised look the features of her face seem to soften, relaxing into something that’s almost fond, “I’d forgotten just how stubborn you can be.”

It’s almost embarrassing, how shy he suddenly feels, the light pink that dusts his cheek in response.

“Yeah, well, I learnt from the best didn’t I?”

He gives her a pointed look and she makes a face at him, scrunching up her nose.

It’s kind of adorable.

Bellamy lets himself smile for a second before it drains off his face, a familiar heaviness taking its place.

“You don’t have to thank me for that. This whole thing…it’s at least partly my fault so,” he shrugs, wanting to say it’s the least he could do but not wanting it to sound like he’s here out of some uncaring sense of obligation, “just…you don’t have to thank me for it.”

Clarke looks at him for a moment, a considering look before nodding.

“Thank you anyway.” She says with a small upwards tilt to her mouth and Bellamy’s heart does that increasingly familiar clenching thing.

Suddenly, nerves and uncertainty swirl sickeningly in his stomach as he tries to figure out how to phrase what he wants to say.

“Are we…um are you… Are we going to be okay…eventually?” he manages, his voice cracking over the words.

_Can I be your friend again?_

The hint of Clarke’s smile fades and she looks down for a moment before she lifts her head and meets his eyes again. They’re sad again he realizes with a pang.

“I’ll need time Bellamy.”

He nods. Right. Right. yeah, no, of course.

“And space.”

Absolutely, he gets it. Clarke has always been the type to process things internally and usually alone.

He doesn’t realize how vigorously he’s still nodding his head until he sees the amused quirk to Clarke’s lips and stops.

“I understand. I’ll…I’ll be here Clarke if you need me.”

A small frown crinkles her brow. She looks down at her shoes again.

“Don’t be.” She whispers.

“…what?”

“I meant what I said, before.” She tells him. Those eyes look up and they, like her voice are curiously even; quiet, devoid of the rage, the fear, the wide- cracked open grief he’d glimpsed earlier this night. Not even the sadness from a handful of seconds ago. That alone, the way she’s retreated so deeply into herself that not even ripples on the surface remain to hint at the turmoil beneath, that alone worries him more than he can say. “Death seems to follow me wherever I go. So, for your own good, you should probably just…stay away.”

“Clarke…” She doesn’t have to do this; undertake some self-imposed exile as punishment for something that wasn’t even really her fault.

That was more _his._

“Please.”

It disarms him, the intensity behind that single word, some of those hidden emotions bleeding through.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. I won’t come to you or interfere or anything else… I’ll stay away but…don’t ask me to not be here for you. I can’t not be there for you –

“Bellamy –”

“It’ll be on your terms. When you’re ready to forgive me or talk or anything, I’ll be here. If you never come to me that’s fine, I won’t push, I promise. Just…I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Clarke’s eyes search his, softening at whatever they find.

“…Alright.”

He let’s out a soft breath of relief. It’s not any kind of guarantee; if Clarke really has it in her head that the common link between the deaths of all the people she’s cared about is her, she probably won’t come anywhere near him anyway for quite a while. But still… It’s better than nothing.

“Alright.”

They take a moment, eyes flicking over each other’s faces, committing details to memory.

When Clarke breathes a final, “Good-bye Bellamy”, he knows somehow, that it’s for real this time.

That there will be no more walks through moonlit forests and ceasing of hostilities, no more pouring out her heart and trusting him to listen.

She turns to leave.

When he whispers his own, “Goodbye Clarke.” There’s no way to be sure she hears, except, for the one brief second she pauses before carrying on.

He makes his way back to the others feeling like a hollow pit has opened up in his chest.

Suddenly, he’s untouched by all the revelry; the music, the dancing, the drunken shrieks of laughter around him – it feels like another time, from another world.

When he returns, he’s conscious of the sudden attention Spacekru on him; the way all conversation ceases, eyes wide and expectant on him.

John and Emory are back, dewy with sweat and apparently briefed on everything that has happened because they’re looking at him with just as much curiosity as the others.

He tries to give Echo a smile. Urges her up so that he can retake his seat and she hers, in his lap.

For a moment, all he wants is to bury his face in her back, wrap his arms around her and squeeze, because her warmth at least feels real, her body a comforting weight grounding him, making sure he doesn’t simply float away.

He doesn’t of course; everyone’s watching him much too curiously for that.

Raven’s the one who eventually breaks the silence with, “well knight in shining armor, did you save the princess from the big bad grounder – no offence,” This to the grounder members of their family.

“None taken.” Echo says. Emori just rolls her eyes good naturedly.

There’s an edge to Raven’s voice, sharp enough to cut and Bellamy closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to let it roll over him.

Regardless of her tone, they’re all waiting to hear what happened; to get some clues on what’s going on with their friend.

It’s none of their business really whether Clarke is sleeping with this or that person and he has no intention of violating her privacy like that. He also doesn’t want to hear Raven’s snippy comments about it.

And everything that’s going on with Madi and Gaia… really isn’t his story to tell.

“No,” he says, “No I didn’t ‘rescue’ her. She didn’t need me to intervene. You were right, Clarke can take care of herself just fine.”

He tries to smile. Something about the careful way Echo’s watching him lets him know that it doesn’t come out quite right. 

He can’t quite bring himself to meet her eyes, to have her see through him to the _why._

There’s a collective sense of relief almost, and at the same time, from Raven, Monty and Harper especially, a disappointment that’s palpable. That Clarke still didn’t come and say hi even after Bellamy went after her.

Raven let’s out a bitter huff. “Of course she didn’t. Princess always has everything well in hand doesn’t she. Making life and death decisions like she was born to play God.”

Bellamy has to resist the almost violent urge that surges up in him suddenly - to defend Clarke against the unfairness of those statements; Raven is hurt and angry and working through whatever happened in this valley while the rest of them were in the bunker – starting an argument with her won’t solve anything.

So, he simply squeezes Echo’s waist – a reassurance – and let’s himself gather her closer.

“You sure you’re alright.” She whispers, so low none of the others can hear.

“Yeah,” he murmurs back just as quietly.

But as he rests his head against her and looks into the exuberantly dancing flames, he can’t rid himself of the sense of wrongness which fills him;

The sense that comes from the unequivocal knowledge that just because Clarke Griffin can take care of herself…

It didn’t necessarily mean that she should have to.

Alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter :)
> 
> Feel free to holler at me in the comments.
> 
> Byeee.

**Author's Note:**

> Btw, for those wondering, yes this most definetely has multiple chapters. Lol, I wouldn't just leave you hanging. I'm trying to work out how to get that to show from the edit screen so, if anyone knows, just drop a comment. Thank you.


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